The Dark Reflection
by Margot11
Summary: Sequel to 'A Learning Experience' - won't make any sense if you haven't read that. Same warnings apply as previous story. Still Slytherin-centric to the max, and to be avoided by Snape-haters at all cost! There'll be mistakes aplenty (dates and such-like) - I mostly write when I'm exhausted after work. Am I selling it to you!
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1 - Life Goes On**

**A/N 1: It's good to be back, and I hope I have some returning readers!**

**A/N 2: Remember where we left off? Nott Senior was closing in on Archie Delingpole in order to kidnap him and hold him ransom for The Mirror of Merlin. Snape tricked Karkaroff into murdering him. The Mirror's magical properties were destroyed, and Dumbledore told **_**The Daily Prophet**_** it had always been a hoax. That should do.**

**A/N 3: Bear with me; it's a long chapter, with quite a bit of exposition.**

**A/N 4: There's a little bit of none-too-subtle foreshadowing in this chapter, which should alert you to the non-canon direction the story will eventually take! I hope you enjoy it.**

**Evening in the Slytherin common room, 8****th**** April, 1995.**

"_Fi_nally!"

It was the overstressed first syllable that made her sound so stroppy. Snape pulled Alicia Mayhew up from the rug to stand beside him.

"You're being rude and remarkably demanding for one who refused to make the trek up to the owlery. Do we need to have words?"

That question needed no answer.

"Sorry Zabini. Thanks for getting Theo's letter."

As a matter of fact, Alicia had good reason for not wanting to go trooping through the castle, but she knew Snape wouldn't have agreed. Squirming out of his grasp, she slunk back down to her spot on the rug next to Harry and Malfoy. It was hard for her to disappear from view given the shocking pink cardigan she was wearing, but she gave it her best shot.

"Told you." She said, as she copied them and leant back on the sofa.

What she'd told them was Snape was in a prickly mood since he'd returned from his unexplained absence, which was a shame as the days following Wilberforce Nott's death had been particularly wonderful. Odd that such a solemn event should be the precursor of carefree merriment, but there it was.

Malfoy had confided that Theo was dreadfully poorly the evening of the ministry inspection. That was confirmed a week later when Snape finally allowed them to visit the hospital wing in small groups. Not one group witnessed Snape cuff Theo around the back of the head and tell him to stop malingering. Nor was he threatened with a potion of Snape's own concoction; a potion so foul it was guaranteed to shock the recipient out of his or her feeble state. And when those things didn't happen, you knew a person was sick. They learned of Nott Senior's death. That brought long moments of introspection to many in the dungeons. Few knew the man, but they'd heard tell of him. 'One of the Old Guard' was how many of their parents had spoken of Wilberforce Nott. He was admired, and not a little feared. And when certain Slytherin parents regarded a person like that … well, it spoke volumes. They all took a few moments to regret the times they'd brushed straight past Theo when he was looking downcast, or the times they'd gone hurtling off on an escapade and not noticed he hadn't joined them until too late. They hadn't the first idea what had happened, but they _knew_. Knew all about that scary, murky world so many of their parents inhabited. So why on earth were the Easter hols wonderful? Harry puzzled over that one and came to the conclusion that when things were dire, there's really no option but to seize happiness. If it wanders across your path, you grab it. You'd be a fool not to - and the Snakes were anything but foolish.

Snape's usual practice during the holidays was to resent his students for coming from families so abysmal they were unwelcome in the school breaks. He much preferred to live in denial of his students' presence, and go cavorting around Hogsmeade like a sailor on shore leave - only with a much larger appetite. When he did enter the common room, he would do so only to glower and reproach them for any stray hint of happiness. Unfair, but then Severus never laid claim to nobility of purpose. However, this time he was on board with the gaiety.

The only time he'd been to Hogsmeade was to take his Slytherins on a jaunt there. They had a fine time, due in no small part to Miles Bletchley. Despite numerous unpleasant discussions with Snape regarding the perils of gambling, Bletchley ran a forbidden book on the number of greetings their housemaster would receive from the young - and not-so-young - witches of the town. A verbal greeting counted as one point, a lascivious wink, two. Embraces, hugs and the like scored three points. And should any lusty wench's hands venture below Snape's waist, Bletchley had promised a double pay out. The latter was teenaged boys' imaginations run wild, but it added to the lark. Unfortunately, the book-maker let the cat out of bag when he whooped with joy as the greetings, winks and hugs surpassed forty seven - the highest number wagered on, and he realised he could keep all the money. Snape pulled back from Polly Pinkerton, occasional barmaid at _The Hog's Head_, eyed the older students, and knew at once what they'd been about.

"You all wagered on so few? You _wound_ me!"

He then proposed they attempt to win back their money by betting on how many times his slipper connected with Bletchley's backside. But that never came to pass, and one glorious spring day after another brought extra joy to the Snakes as they picnicked on the lawns, challenged Gryffindor to moderately friendly quidditch matches, and gained Snape's permission to go swimming in the Black Lake.

Whilst Snape was up in the hospital wing, the younger students took the opportunity to play pranks on older students. Blaise Zabini was a favourite target. Not that he was disliked - as a matter of fact, several of the younger girls regularly swooned in his presence - but the preening peacock of the fourth year was such a deliciously easy target. Cologne was spelled to turn acrid ten minutes after Blaise had liberally doused himself in it. Hair products once applied mutated into flurries of dandruff. Face cleansers caused blackheads to appear around his nostrils. They were all short-lived spells, but still long enough to have Zabini pulling at his hair and swearing revenge. Great fun for the lower years, though. They loved it.

Once Zabini recovered his sangfroid, he and the older years paused the wholesomeness of spring picnics and healthy dips in the lake to smoke up a storm in the disused woodsheds, make repulsive cocktails with the few dregs of alcohol they could rustle up, or go and snog significant others in the long grass near the Dark Forest. Snape never cottoned on to any of that; it had been bloody marvellous.

**oOo**

Harry weighed up Alicia's remark; was The Git returning to form? Hard to say. Of course they all wanted to hear about Theo, but she _was_ annoyingly impatient; he'd been tempted to tell her to button it himself. He looked up to see his housemates sitting erect, eager for the first news from Theo regarding his new situation at The Delingpoles. Zabini held the letter aloft.

"Well … my, my! Never let it be said that the Delingpoles do things by halves. Just look at how exquisite this letter is!"

"We don't want to look at it. We want to hear what's in it!" Called out Alicia.

Zabini enjoyed her impatience. He was certain Alicia was the one who tampered with his cologne. He took a few slow paces around the room showing everyone the ornate parchment. It was rose tinted with gilded edges, and hadn't been folded in the usual manner, but rolled and held in its furled state by a rose grosgrain ribbon several hues darker. An illuminated crest was just visible near one end. Harry's eyes were drawn to it and he realised why as its sum parts started tripping delicately up and down the scroll before singing aloud the family motto, '_acutissime ac diligentissime semper_'. Harry felt an elbow in his ribs.

"What's the name of the Weasley hovel? The Pig Pen? The Rats Nest?"

"The Burrow." Answered Harry, too distracted by the tiny voices to take in Malfoy's cheap barb.

"Yeah well, they could sell that place and maybe buy one sheet of that parchment."

The all-singing, all-dancing letter had somewhat stolen the thunder from his nasty jibe, but he didn't mind. Potter was alright, he'd decided. The bespectacled show-off had risen in his estimation with his modest conduct following the drama of the two Notts. Potter hadn't spoken of it, even when folk went digging for details. And far from missing the limelight, Malfoy thought he detected relief in Potter that Snape didn't emulate Dumbledore and insist everyone bow down to the sainted Harry Potter at dinner in the Great Hall. Fair do's, he supposed; Wonderboy was kind of okay.

Snape was only a few feet from the muttered insult, yet he too didn't pick up on it. He was listening to the Delingpole motto - acuity and diligence always - and pondering just how far the current standard bearers had fallen, and whether it wasn't time for a new motto? He snapped to, and realised what Malfoy had just said. Good, thought Snape. He was greedily harvesting any bad behaviour - with a goal in mind.

"I won't have such disrespectful talk in Slytherin. Keep talking like that, Mister Malfoy, and you'll cost your housemates an early lights-out."

Snape looked from Malfoy to take in the rest of the students.

"In fact, that might not be a bad idea. There've been far too many late nights recently. You're all getting peevish."

Harry stared at all the relaxed and contented faces and wondered what on earth Snape was on about. Alicia was the only person looking bothered, but that wasn't unusual for her. Snape ploughed on despite all evidence to the contrary.

"Tiredness has made you fractious and petulant. Let me warn you now, one more ill-tempered word from anyone, and the whole lot of you will be up those stairs and into your dorms."

Zabini, Snape was delighted to note, had been too intent on teasing the younger students with the slow reveal of the letter's contents to hear his uncalled for chiding. The fourth-year now sat down and carefully tugged on the grosgrain ribbon. This he slowly rolled up and placed on a nearby table. Several times the ribbon attempted to uncoil itself, but with ponderous deliberation he experimented with repositioning it, until eventually it remained sitting obediently coiled. Next he began to carefully unfurl the parchment, admiring its smoothness as he went. It was all a not-so-subtle ploy to rile his younger housemates, just payback for their pranks. It worked.

Curious the effect of words, though. A person might think they've shrugged them off, but no. They've lingered somewhere and sown seeds. Where before there was serenity, impatience bloomed and tempers began to fray.

"Hurry _up_!" Called out Elsa Tobin. She then eyed Snape nervously, "I mean _please_ hurry up."

But Zabini was enjoying this far too much. He slowed down even more. Arno Van Den Berg noticed, and grew rattled.

"Perhaps we should all go to bed while Zabini opens the letter - if he hurries he might be ready to read it while we have breakfast tomorrow!" He huffed, quickly plastering a grin on his face - hoping this would be sufficient to turn ill temper into a 'quip'.

Zabini continued with his painstaking progress, and Snape watched his house grow restless. He did feel a little shabby, but, really, this was a gift. He'd had a bugger of a day, and needed more than anything time and space to think things through. No use sequestering himself in his quarters; some pest was bound to come in and break his solitude to ask a silly question or tattle on a housemate. His hope, on returning to the castle, had been that his students had enjoyed a bit of riotous rule-breaking. Then he'd be able to scold them soundly and send them off to bed. No such luck. Even Licorus Black could find nothing to reproach the Snakes for. But once the thought of sending the lot of them to bed early had entered his head, he hadn't been able to shake it. They didn't deserve it, but so what? Much in life was undeserved, both the good and the bad, and he could always make it up to them tomorrow.

Even that most affable of souls, Adrian Pucey, caught the impatience bug.

"As Zabini is taking such an extraordinarily long time for such a simple task, I have a word game we may play in the meantime - it'll hopefully stop us all falling asleep." He announced. "See who can rearrange these words into the correct order: Move. Get. On. Zabini. Bloody. A."

Synchronised perfectly, the heads in the room tilted to the side as they all began to mentally reorder the jumbled instruction. Snape won that little word game, and as it was now officially 'his turn', he decided to reciprocate.

"Here is a special one just for you, Mister Pucey: Are. Old. Too. You. Not."

Pucey understood perfectly what his housemaster deemed him not too old for. Furthermore, he felt - in light of his not infrequent trips to Snape's study - that his housemaster could have tried a little harder in formulating his word puzzle.

"Know. Sir. That. Already. I." Muttered Pucey.

**oOo**

But Zabini eventually heeded the whispered warnings that Snape was back to his habitual grumpiness. He stopped being provocative and read the letter aloud. Mellowness once again blanketed the room as Nott's words were read out. Theo was safe and thankful, and so very, very tired. He'd never realised how tense, how much on his guard he'd been. He felt so different now. In fact, he sobbed like a baby at the drop of a hat. And that was a good thing, he told them; he wanted rid of all his tears before he came back and Millicent started teasing him. The girl in question laughed.

"I will do, too - if he starts that malarkey!"

The Snakes smiled; they knew Millicent was as soft as butter when needed. Theo told them of the long walks in the Gloucestershire countryside he'd had with Claude Delingpole. Death, Claude told him, caused resentment and anger to spew forth, but that was nothing to be ashamed of. Ride it out and acceptance and joyful memories would eventually come in their wake. So that was what Theo planned to do. His father had once been kind, and Theo planned to cherish those memories. Snape listened as Zabini finished the letter and reproached himself once more for his uncharitable attitude to Claude and Audrey Delingpole.

He was glad they'd all heard the letter together, and part of him thought it would do them good to have an early night and mull over Theo's words. But now they all seemed so calm; he couldn't imagine anyone giving him cause to scold and send them to bed. Just as he was reconciling himself to their company for another few hours, Astoria Greengrass rode to the rescue.

"What I can't understand is why Theo didn't just go and stay with another relative if his dad was so mean."

"It's not that easy." Muttered Alicia with feeling.

"Our aunts and uncles are always begging us to stay with them, aren't they Daphne?"

"Be quiet, Tory." Said Daphne.

"Yeah, be quiet." Said Alicia, "You don't know what you're bloody talking about. You're just a lame brain."

"Don't call me that!"

"I will!" Said Alicia.

"Will you now? Well, I'll call you to your face what everyone else is calling you behind your back: big, pink blob!"

No sooner had the final 'b' sounded from Tory's lips than a furious Snape grasped her collar and propelled her out of the room.

"Good!" Said Daphne, "She deserves it. And don't listen to her, Alicia. No one's been saying that."

Alicia hung her head and a tear plopped into her lap. After a minute or so she spoke.

"It's true. I do look like a big, pink blob. I hate this thing." She said, pulling at the cardigan sleeve, "It's so ugly."

"Rubbish." Said Harry, putting his arm around her. "Pink's a great colour. It's Malfoy's favourite; all his underwear's pink!"

"True!" Said Malfoy, "Potter favours lavender, but I'm a pink man through and through!"

Alicia gave a watery laugh

"Why do you wear it if you don't like it?" Asked Tracey.

"Have to." Answered Alicia, "My aunt gave it to me. She only wears pink, and thinks all girls should."

"Well, she's not here now." Said Tracey, "Take it off if you want."

"She knows if I don't wear it. Then she gets cross … it's not good …"

Snape paused in the doorway holding onto a thoroughly chastened Tory Greengrass' shoulder. He stared intently as Alicia rubbed her fingers along the back of her right hand. He knew of the severity of Pure Bloods, yet Alicia's unconscious act still chilled him. He prodded Tory forward.

"I'm sorry, Lissy. No one else did say that; it was just me. You're clever, I'm not. It made me mad when you called me a lame brain. Sorry."

Alicia Mayhew, Snape observed, was more resilient than a rubber ball. Her bottom lip stopped all its wobbling, and a grin broke out.

"Bet you are _now_!" Said Alicia, taking in the tell-tale red eyes of someone recently dealt with by Snape. "Only kidding! The pink _is_ yuck, but what can you do about crazy aunt gifts?"

The rapprochement was going too smoothly, and Snape stepped in to remind everyone of his earlier warning. They were all duly despatched to bed.

**oOo**

He can't be serious, thought Alicia Mayhew. I've had to wear this hideous fuchsia cardi' all day and then I got called a fat, pink blob in front of everyone. Now I'm in trouble?! She saw Harry falter in his steps, as if he was going to object to Snape on her behalf. She gave him a shove to the boys' stairs. Thanks but no thanks, Potter. If Snape's mad at me, you'll only make things worse.

Snape would have liked to let Alicia pass unhindered to bed, and not simply because he craved solitude. She was tired, and he realised she'd been out of sorts all day. This was something more than a childish fit of sulking over being forced to wear a cardigan she didn't particularly care for - and his suspicion was that it was a thoroughly unpleasant 'something'.

"Miss Mayhew, since when has it been acceptable to call anyone 'lame brain'?"

Snape beckoned her closer, and Alicia scowled. She should have bloody well known the evening wouldn't end without 'having words' with Snape.

"Hold out your hand."

She didn't know what was going on; he wasn't holding a ruler, but maybe he was going to summon that awful, stingy one out of his desk? Sticking out her short arm, she prepared for her palms to be tingling all night. But Snape turned the hand over and laid three light slaps on the back of it. Alicia couldn't believe it; it didn't hurt at all. Most un-Snapelike. And yet he stared intently at it, as if waiting for it to grow crimson under the feeble onslaught.

"Other one."

Snape placed his left thumb and forefinger on her wrist, raised the hand, and peered down in search of the tell-tale marks. There they were, five white crescent-shaped scars. Old, but he still couldn't bring himself to issue anything but light taps.

"No. More. Fighting. Or else."

Or else what, thought Alicia, you'll thrash me with a feather? Flay me with a handkerchief? But she got into enough trouble without inviting more, and kept shtum.

"I presume your aunt's cardigan was the reason you refused to go through the Great Hall and up to the owlery?"

"Yes. I do look like a pink blob, sir." She answered.

"You do not."

He put his arm around her to shepherd her to the girls' stairs, but not before giving her a slight squeeze.

"The colour looks exceptional on you. It goes well with your dark hair. And furthermore, if I ever suspect you've curtailed your movements over something as ludicrous as the colour of an item of clothing, I'll …"

She cut him off.

"I won't, sir. I won't do it again." Then, in an effort to make him feel better about the piss weak punishment he'd doled out, she rubbed her hands and added an "_Ouch_!"

"Bed, Miss Mayhew."

**oOo**

Harry quickly shrank back around the doorway to the boys' dorms. It had angered him when Snape called Alicia back. She was the sinned against, not the sinning. But Snape hadn't bawled her out; he'd given a sham punishment, and then been kind to her. Well, as kind as Harry imagined Snape got, which could easily be classed as standoffish for most people. Glancing down at his watch, he saw it wasn't even half past eight yet. Twenty seven minutes past, to be exact. He ought to be pissed off that his evening had been cut short, but he was feeling nothing but warm contentment. This was definitely a weird house - with an even weirder housemaster. But somehow it worked.

The alcove seat was far too inviting, and he slumped down into it and let his thoughts overtake him. As a little boy, he'd soon realised that The Dursleys, while technically a family, were a piss-poor rendition of one. His own parents were unknown to him, and so he'd created 'Fantasy Family'. The bones of said family were mainly fuelled by Enid Blyton. Loving mummy was ably abetted by an army of 'help' - these, note, were paid and most definitely _not_ child labour. Daddy was a little remote, but constant, upstanding and respected by all. Siblings were there for adventures. They seldom fell out and when they did, it was over noble matters, such as fighting to shoulder the blame when they were caught scrumping apples in the farmer's field. He wasn't too sure what 'scrumping apples' was, but it was definitely a pursuit of he and his fantasy siblings. Above all, Fantasy Family were relentlessly happy, orderly folk, whose fantasy life ran like clockwork.

He found out all that was bollocks at The Burrow. The Weasleys were way better than Fantasy Family, but they had a flaw.

"_Count yourself lucky you don't have a sister_." Ron would groan.

"_Brothers are the worst, and I've got SIX of them_." Ginny would grumble.

"_Mum's addicted to fussing_." George would say, "_Lucky you; you don't have to put up with all that_."

For all their chaotic warmth, he was still an outsider. No one in Slytherin had ever said, "Lucky you. At least Snape won't give you three feet of lines because he's in a shit mood and you left your jumper on the sofa arm." They either gave him a commiserating shrug, or a "Sucks to be you, Potter!" And he did likewise the next time cranky Snape doubled their prep time for whispering during morning inspection.

From the get-go he'd been treated as one of them, at least by Snape. And come to think of it, the Snakes hadn't been far behind - despite their callous reputation. He was no longer an unwanted adjunct to the family. Nor was he treated as an honoured guest. He was just one of them. Of course that meant that he was subject to Snape's unfair and ridiculously early bedtime the same as the rest of them. The thing was, Harry found that he didn't mind in the slightest. If Molly Weasley had done her nut and packed Ron and his sibs off to bed, Harry knew he'd have been excused - allowed to sit in the parlour with a book while the others bitched and moaned upstairs. That's what an in-group doesn't get: outsiders envy the whole experience, not just the fun times. He was delighted to be in the midst of everyday Slytherin life with all its attendant joking, teasing, squabbles and Snape tellings off.

"You have three seconds to get in your dorm, Potter!"

He basked in the luxury of rolling his eyes, then scuttled down the hallway to join Malfoy and the gang.

**oOo**

Snape waited for Potter to close the dorm door, spun around on his heel, and deliberated.

"That one." He murmured to the empty room.

Shoes still on, he threw himself onto the longest of the sofas before summoning his whisky bottle and tumbler from his quarters. Oh, the perks of being a despot! And why should he not have seized those meagre advantages? His role as head of Slytherin House certainly brought more than its share of trouble. No doubt Filius had noted his absence that day and sniggered over lunch about Snape's 'extra-curricular Hogsmeade activities'. Minerva might have joined in with the sniggers, but she could just as easily have sat lips pursed and disapproving; it all depended on her mood. But alas, there'd been no romps with the effervescent Polly Pinkerton. Not that day. That day had been very different.

**oOo**

**Same day, 11 am**

Snape stayed hidden behind the south transept pillar of St Wulfstan's Church. He wasn't tempted to peer around. He'd taken a look at the open coffin earlier when the Reverend Eustace Hardbottle had grown so perplexed at the absence of any mourners, he'd gone to check with his verger that it was indeed the correct time and date for the funeral of Wilberforce Nott, late of that parish.

The severity of Nott Senior's demeanour had always leeched out into what was, objectively, a handsome face. The aquiline nose appeared hawkish, the soft grey of his eyes glinted like sharpened metal, and the pleasing lack of fullness to his lips was taken too far by their forever being thinned into a streak of distaste. But since the morticians had plied their wretched trade, the man practically glowed a sickly yellow. Snape gave a nod to the stained glass depiction of St Jude, and silently offered thanks that Theodore hadn't attended this dismal rite. But some would come; of that Snape was certain.

Sure enough, no sooner had Vicar Hardbottle recited the last prayer than the church door opened. A mass of heavy steps sounded up the aisle, and Snape pulled back to look around the sandstone column. Jasper Flint pulled out a long pin from his lapel and stuck it in Nott's body with a severity that caused Hardbottle to gasp.

"He's gone." Flint confirmed to the newly-arrived guests.

Severus slid back further, and saw the fathers of Pucey, Crabbe, Goyle, and Malfoy. They abruptly turned to exit the church, only Lucius feeling any embarrassment at what had just happened.

"Thank you, vicar." He said softly, before looking down at Wilberforce Nott. "He was a complicated man." He added by way of explanation.

Snape slipped out of the vestry door and raced along the southern wall, crouching under the stone embrasure as the men stood in the vestibule.

"He's dead, as I assured you he was." It was Lucius speaking, "We took an unnecessary risk coming here."

"Some of us, Malfoy, are prepared to take risks in the service of the Dark Lord." Said Pucey Senior.

"I came!" Objected Lucius.

"Unwillingly. A fact I shall be sure to relay."

Crabbe Senior walked down the church steps.

"No one's around, but we should leave."

"Soon, Crabbe. Don't you lose your nerve like Malfoy!"

"And the Mirror?" Asked Jasper Flint.

"The Mirror was a hoax." Said Pucey bitterly.

"Dear, dear," Crooned Lucius, "and there you were, Pucey, thinking poor Wilberforce had substituted the Mirror with a forgery, and faked his own funeral. Might I suggest less cheese at supper? It over-stimulates one's imagination, I believe."

"As I said before, Malfoy, some of us know no limit in the service of the Dark Lord. We are prepared to explore every possibility."

"Indeed." Replied Lucius, "Your unknown limits caused you to murder two of the brightest young followers the Dark Lord had. Perhaps I shall relay that fact to him when he returns, hmm?"

"As you wish, Malfoy. But let me say this, Christopher and Hugh Delingpole brought about their own deaths by failing repeatedly to bring us the Mirror. Furthermore, I consider it our duty, whilst in waiting, to rid our ranks of _all_ the callow and the ineffectual."

Snape didn't need to look. He knew Pucey's remark was aimed at Lucius, as did all present, though not one spoke in his defence. The crunch of gravel in several directions signalled they had dispersed. Snape rose a little and looked through the embrasure. Only Lucius was remaining. He watched the man drop his head to his chest in defeat, and wondered how his one-time friend was ever going to survive the return of the Dark Lord. No smugness there. Lucius had been kind to him once, and however much he tried, Snape couldn't forget it. He kept watching. Lucius breathed in deeply, drew himself up, and affected that supercilious look he'd made his own. A few seconds later, and he'd apparated.

**oOo**

Snape sat on the cold stone and stretched out his legs. To his left, Vicar Hardbottle and the sexton were staring into the grave of Wilberforce Nott. This they did for a respectful minute, before the vicar turned and left, and the sexton began shovelling earth atop Wilberforce. Not one word, Snape reflected. Not one of them had spoken a single word on Nott Senior's death, other than confirm its veracity. He supposed it was justice that such a singularly hateful man in life should be afforded no regard in death. It also had the added advantage that no one much cared how Nott had died. It was simply enough that he was dead, and that meant no suspicion falling on himself or Karkaroff.

The sexton finished, and Snape walked towards the fresh grave. He couldn't pray for Wilberforce Nott. The man had been vile. But he did offer thanks for being able to turn Adrian Pucey and his siblings away from their terrifying father. He was thankful, too, that Nott was free of Wilberforce, and he had the burgeoning hope that others might be freed from similar oppression. He turned his back on Wilberforce Nott and walked away.

**oOo**

Snape was about to pour his fourth glass of whisky, but wisely put that on hold to recap the events of the last few weeks before the smoky, peat-filled fug of whisky overload shrouded his brain. He had engineered Nott's death. Karkaroff cast the fatal spell, but it had all been Severus' doing. Both of them were in the clear; none of the Death Eaters mourned Nott. Albus' fake news of The Mirror of Merlin being a hoax had been swallowed hook, line and sinker. No vengeance would be sought for the destruction of it. Christopher and Hugh Delingpole had been murdered by Pucey Senior. Snape was thankful it hadn't been Lucius. Theodore Nott would be forever scarred by his father's actions, but the kind hearts and simple goodness of the Delingpoles, allied to Theodore's own tenacity, would see him through. They were the good things, but there was so much besides.

Lucius' position was looking perilous. Snape feared for him when The Dark Lord returned; he'd seen the ruthlessness with his own eyes. His mind ran apace, and he wondered if he could somehow use Lucius' weakness to his own ends. Next, Alicia's small, chubby hand sprang to mind, and he found himself panicking. How could he hope to keep his Slytherins safe when they had families like hers? Families that wielded instruments of correction so cruel they'd make Salazar himself blanch. What child would be brave enough to turn away from them?

So many questions. He couldn't hope to answer them. Not that it stopped him from brooding.

"Bugger!" He exclaimed, "All this, and I still have to face Minerva."

The thought of that conversation had him reaching for the whisky bottle.


	2. What Harry Knew

**Thanks to Michalmil, Guest and Hamlet. **So lovely to hear from you again. Yes Hamlet, Lucius will feature - eventually. I find him really interesting as a character. You will have to wait a bit, though.

**Chapter 2 - What Harry Knew**

_**Tick tock! Tick tock!**__ The countdown to his last day in Slytherin was on. This was it: 'the elbow', 'the order of the boot', 'don't let the door hit you on the way out, Potter!' His awareness of time's relentless passage had been thoughtfully handed to him by none other than Draco Malfoy. But it was only much later that Harry could pinpoint the cause of the trouble set to cascade around his ears that Easter holiday. Gregory Goyle. Much later still, and Harry could feel only infinite sadness whenever he thought of Goyle. But those days were, back then, the distant future. For the time being, it was all fun and frivolity; let the good times roll! Oh, if only … Harry never blamed Goyle for the things he said. How could he? They were perfectly true. All the same, life would have been so much easier if the big lummox had kept his trap shut …_

**oOo**

**8****th**** April, 1995**

"You have three seconds to get in your dorm, Potter!"

Snape's warning echoed off the stone walls of the corridor as Harry ploughed into the fourth-year dorm. Listening to Zabini prattling on, he realised the earlier joking about pink and lavender underwear had been revived and expanded. Zabini was insistent that the colour of a person's underwear was an instant guide to their character. From colour the conversation turned to style and cut. And of course, being an all-boys dorm, soon centred on female underwear. Adrian Pucey breezed in as poor Charity Burbage was having her unmentionables feverishly speculated upon. Besides Snape - whose underwear didn't remotely interest them - she was the only young-ish professor they had at Hogwarts, and as such, bore the brunt of many a testosterone-fuelled fantasy.

"97% cotton, 3% elastane mix. An array of pastel colours, and all with a band of ivory satin at the top." Pucey said authoritatively.

"Oh, yes." Said Zabini, Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle.

Pucey smiled benignly at them before leading them out of their wilderness of hopeless ignorance with an explanation.

"It's a simple matter, really. Dear Prof. Burbage will choose cotton for its comfort and breathability. She's a sensible old stick, so the small amount of elastane is a must. But despite the modesty of the cotton and pastels, she just has to have that added extra, that genuflection to femininity and sensuousness, hence the satin band."

"Ah, I see now." Said the disciple Zabini.

"You're right. That makes perfect sense." Murmured Pucey's other followers.

"_What_?!" Cackled Harry, "Don't listen to him! _He_ doesn't know! He's just been poring over Pansy's _Witch Weekly Clothing Catalogue_ in bed again!"

Pucey feigned outrage, but gave up three seconds later as he collapsed into sniggers.

"It's delicious bedtime reading!"

The conversation inevitably turned to the underpinnings of a future wife, and as Harry was a fourteen-year-old boy with blood coursing through his veins, he joined in with gusto. But even he had to sit back and smile as he listened to the dogmatic demands Malfoy planned to make of the future Mrs. Malfoy.

"You do realise that women may want a say in what they wear?!"

"Spot the person raised by Muggles." Said Malfoy dismissively, "The wizard is head of the household."

Harry slumped back on his pillow and thought of Hermione, Millicent and Alicia Mayhew. Good luck telling them what to wear, you prat! The image then entered his head of Arthur Weasley marching into The Burrow with a parcel of silky black nether garments. The likely reaction of the indomitable Molly simultaneously made him guffaw and wince. Poor Arthur, folks would say, looking at the stunned body on the kitchen floor; he never stood a chance. He finished chuckling, and glanced right.

"What are you thinking about, Greg?"

"Stuff."

Harry thought nothing of it.

**oOo**

The next day, Goyle expounded upon "stuff".

"I wish wizards weren't the head of the household."

But nothing more came, and the remark was soon forgotten. Later that afternoon, Harry spied him sitting on the south stairs of the hall. His head was bowed and he was looking down at his great, meaty paws, the effort of thinking causing his fingers and lips to twitch in unison. Harry suddenly felt ashamed at intruding upon the moment and backed away, but Goyle had seen him.

"Something up?" Asked Harry.

"What Nott said." Explained Goyle. "His dad had once been kind. Did he mean his dad had been kind one time, or did his dad used to be kind?"

Bloody hell, thought Harry. Orphan he might be, but Goyle was way worse off than him if he could contemplate a father only being kind one time. You poor bastard.

"I think he used to be kind, Greg."

It then hit him why Astoria Greengrass' question had riled not just Alicia, but himself and so many of the Snakes. A person with a happy home life had to be careful in Slytherin, lest they come across as smug and contemptible. Goyle stood up and walked off. Harry was tempted to go after him, but he saw Seamus Finnegan and raced over to gloat about the Slytherins' day out in Hogsmeade.

The following night, Goyle had completed all his musings on 'stuff', and took a moment after lights out in the dorm to spout forth on how fathers could seriously eff up your life.

"They've got tight hold of you, don't you see? And they won't let go."

Did the unknown James have tight hold of Harry? He thought on it a few moments, but the fact was Harry was having too much fun listening to Zabini's impudent depiction of McGonagall in tartan bloomers to take much notice of 'The Meathead Philosopher'. And who listened to Goyle anyway? He alternated between near-silence and occasionally propounding on matters, such as the over-importance placed on reading, and how to groom a first-year into offering up their pudding. But maybe he should have listened to Goyle. At least he should have stopped laughing with Zabini, and taken note of how Malfoy had grown quiet.

**oOo**

**11****th**** April, 1995**

The following morning, Harry took an ice cold shower - due to Malfoy repeatedly flushing the lavatories.

"Good joke, Malfoy. Dudley used to do that to me - when he was _five_."

Not true, actually. Dudley still did it, but Harry was making a point. His precious morning shower had turned into a torture session. He was still huffing as he wrapped a towel around his waist and walked to the basins. Malfoy didn't react, just leant in the corner and crossed his arms. It surprised Harry that the Prat had no smart comeback; it was their morning practice to have some good bathroom repartee. Harry reached over to the large jar on the shelf about to take a splash of verbena cologne when Malfoy slammed down the glass lid.

"What are you doing? That cologne's for everyone."

"The cologne's for Slytherins, Potter. _Not_ outsiders."

Harry stared at the retreating boy. They always started the day trading blows, but something about this was off. The Prat had employed just a bit too much venom.

**oOo**

He kept an eye out for Malfoy, but didn't see him. He wasn't hanging around with Crabbe and Goyle, nor anyone else. Harry could have tried looking for him, but it was the Easter break and Malfoy could've been anywhere. So he gave up, and put it down to an unpleasant owl from his dickhead of a father. But those words that you think you've shrugged off don't go away, and throughout the day his mood dropped, as he kept returning to the 'outsider' comment. Only yesterday things had been brilliant. Come to think of it, even the days leading up to and including the Ministry inspection had been fun and exciting. Bad luck Nott and all that, but Harry, Hermione and Malfoy had had a great time.

It had been such a rush saving Archie from Nott's insane dad. A great thing to do, but that wasn't all that was great about it. They'd helped Snape out. He felt soppy even thinking it, but it meant a lot to Harry. The second Snape clipped he and Malfoy round the ear outside the hospital wing, Harry knew the true extent of his gratitude. It was The Git's version of ruffling your hair and squeezing your cheek. _And_ the sting he imparted only lasted for ten minutes max; Snape didn't get more affectionate than that.

He finally came face to face with Malfoy in the Slytherin corridor late that afternoon.

"We're due for a password change." Malfoy said, "But Snape'll most probably wait until you've gone. I mean, you'll be getting kicked out soon and he's hardly going to want an outsider knowing our password, is he? Got your trunk packed yet, Potter?"

Four seconds later and Harry realised he'd been frozen by Malfoy's words. His mouth was hanging open, and his left foot was still dangling mid-stride. All he wanted to do was curl up into a ball right there in the Slytherin corridor. His breathing quickened, and all at once _Ping_! _Ping_! _Ping_! Thoughts swarmed his head. I don't wanna go! I wanna stay here; I thought we were friends! Bollocks! I'm an idiot! Don't look at Malfoy. Pull yourself together, and don't look at Malfoy; he's gonna laugh. Just walk slowly and calmly out.

But he couldn't. He looked up. No laughter. No sneer. Just a faintly quizzical look on Draco Malfoy's face, as the two lone occupants of the corridor stared at each other. And then, with something that almost approximated sadness, Malfoy spoke.

"Time to go."

Malfoy turned and left, and Harry was yanked out of his comfortable dungeon existence and placed in that spot that seemed to be solely reserved for him: the 'not-really-belonging' spot, the 'don't-get-too-comfortable-they-might-not-want-you' spot.

**oOo**

It was a strange moment, that one with both boys in the corridor. Harry would have wagered the contents of his Gringott's vault that he'd sensed regret in Malfoy's parting shot. Good job he hadn't, else he'd have been not just orphaned and unloved, but stony broke to boot. Harry glanced over the supper table at The Platinum Prat, and could tell from the supercilious smirk that he was back to being a fully-fledged shit.

Not only was Malfoy taking great delight in looking at Harry and then whispering to Crabbe and Goyle, he was also engineering the supper-time conversation into being a mega nostalgia trip. Every anecdote, tall tale and reminiscence pre-dated Harry's days in Slytherin; he couldn't join in with anything. No one else noticed, so Harry had to sit there and grin inanely as elliptical conversations abounded.

"Do you remember that time …?"

"Oh, yeah!"

"Did he really do …?"

"He did!"

"I never …"

"No, me neither."

"What if Snape had …?"

"_Oh_! Just thank Merlin he didn't!"

He hadn't felt so out of it since the day in second-year infants when the whole class bar him had been invited to Dudley's best mate's birthday party. Of course, it wasn't just Malfoy nattering on. Tracey, Daphne, Pucey, Bletch and all the others were skipping merrily down Memory Lane. Had Harry asked them for details, he was certain they'd oblige. But he didn't - and he feared he knew why. It was his old malaise coming back: his terror of being pitied.

By the end of supper, his cheeks ached from the incessant smiling. At the first opportunity he bolted back to the common room and threw himself down on his favourite sofa. He ran his fingernail against the velvet pile of the arm, and realised this was the self same sofa he'd first sat on six months ago. How great would he have felt back then if someone had told him he was leaving soon? He closed his eyes and tried to re-kindle the fear and loathing he'd once felt for Slytherin House. But that's the burden of knowledge for you; you can't 'un-know' things.

He knew Slytherin, and they were no longer the bogeymen of Hogwarts. He knew Snape was the strictest person on the planet, as well as being borderline insane, but he respected the man. Worse than that, he was worried he actually liked him. Not all the time, obviously. Actually, not most of the time. But there'd been several alarming instances when he'd enjoyed being in his company. He knew Pansy Parkinson had a vicious tongue, and yet he also knew she was capable of kindness. Goyle was thick, but he wasn't a mindless thug. Neither was Crabbe, but he was bone idle. He knew that Zabini standing statue-still and impassive wasn't disdain; he was worried his hair might get messy. Millicent was … well, Millicent was Harry's kind of gal - or not, as he'd discovered at the Yule Ball. Pucey was even more fun than he'd seemed on the quidditch pitch, and AB was brilliant. An upstanding prig, yet warm with it. He'd never have thought such a person could survive in Slytherin, let alone go on to be Head Prefect. And Malfoy? Malfoy had been a revelation. Smart, serious, and committed to saving Archie; who'd have thought it?

Yeah well … Harry _had_ thought that. More fool him because at that moment the Prat was at the fireplace shooting malevolent glares at him. What was his fucking problem? The two boys' eyes met and held contact for long seconds. Then third-year Harriett Walsh tapped Harry on the leg,

"How about this one? Six letters, third letter's 'A'. _Husband to Perenelle and famed alchemist_."

Eye contact was broken. Harry looked down at the puzzle he was intermittently doing with Harriett, and heard a snort of triumph from Malfoy, who evidently believed he'd stared Harry into submission. What a tosser.

"I know that one." Harry told Harriett, "It's Flamel."

The 'F' of Flamel gave Harriett the start she needed to answer a string of other clues, whilst Harry sat back on the sofa and pondered some of the other things he now knew.

He knew duplicitous adults were the worst thing on earth. Dumbledore had lied to him when he fed him all that guff about Slytherin being 'a learning experience' and 'the chance of a lifetime'. It had been neither; it was being dumped in another place where he never really belonged. McGonagall had told him she'd always be there for him; well, where was she now? How come people only turned up for the good bits, and he was left feeling like shit on his own? And Snape? Harry had to do some mental gymnastics for this one, but he reckoned Snape had lied by omission - sort of. He should have constantly reminded Harry that he was an 'almost' Slytherin, and not included him in everything as if he were a real Slytherin. Because he wasn't; Harry wasn't a real anything. He always was and always would be on the outside.

In that group, Harry did _not_ include Uncle Vernon. He was greedy, selfish, childish, and utterly predictable in his oafishness - but he'd always been honest in his dislike of Harry. It never dawned on Harry until now that an adult man, and a father at that, having an irrational dislike of a small child could in any way be construed as noble. But if he were honest, bullying Uncle Vernon was a lot easier to deal with than Aunt Petunia. True, Aunt Petunia was a bully too, but she had a flaw the straight up-and-down Vernon lacked; she was prone to rare bouts of conscience.

Aunt Marge had spent a considerable portion of November '88 with her brother, having been flown home early from a winter cruise around the Med'. She'd pitched up on the doorstep spluttering with indignation. It turned out the only reason she'd gone on the cruise had been to gorge herself on the all-you-can-eat buffets. However, the cruise director had had enough of her snarfing the entire lobster station, refunded her fare, and had her off the ship as soon as they reached Genoa. Needless to say, she'd vented her spleen on Harry.

And so it was Aunt Petunia bought him some second-hand _Hot Wheels_ that Christmas. The only problem being the second Harry tried to piece together the tracks, it became apparent why the toy had been festering at the bottom of a church hall jumble sale; they were buckled and wouldn't click together. He realised then that 'nearly' and 'almost' wasn't good enough. What a shitty Christmas it had been … lying on the carpet trying to get enthused over a broken toy. He'd been relieved to be sent to the kitchen to peel parsnips. He'd been even more pleased after lunch when Uncle Vernon winked at Dudley, and pulled out from under the table a 'forgotten' gift for Harry. Harry played along and pulled off the wrapping paper. For a fraction of a second, he was shocked to discover a Nintendo box; might he finally have something to talk about when all the children returned to school? Then he remembered the giver of the gift, and opened the suspiciously light box. Of course … a chamois leather.

He was ejected onto the frost-covered driveway to wash the Vauxhall Chevette, as Dudley - bored already with his mountain of gifts - and Uncle Vernon pulled aside the net curtains and cackled with glee. Uncle Vernon did things right - no half-arsedness about him. He didn't have momentary pangs of conscience that caused him to almost do something decent. 'Almost' was the worst; it dangled hope, which always proved illusory. In any case, Harry had great fun that afternoon pretending to slip on the frost and scratch the bodywork of the Chevette. Yeah, thought Harry, recalling Uncle Vernon's grinning delight punctuated by apoplectic explosions, _almost_ anything was no sodding use at all. He was almost a Slytherin - and that was as much use as those buckled and bent _Hot Wheels_ tracks.

What else did he know? He knew Snape was no idiot. He had to have known how Harry would feel about being kicked out. Well then, Harry was going to let the greasy tosser know exactly what he thought of him the second he got his marching orders. What could Snape do then? Take points? _Ha_! As if Harry cared! He was The Boy Who Lived to Blow Up the Hourglasses! So get stuffed, Snape! You're a wanker, and I can't wait to tell you! He quickly looked up, a bit embarrassed that he was grinning to himself. Then he saw Malfoy scowl at his grinning, and felt pleased. That brought him to the other thing he knew; he knew he hated Malfoy.

Malfoy was like Aunt Petunia. You knew he was a rotten bully, but every now and then he did something that approached decency. Worst. Crime. Ever. Harry felt like jumping up and punching him. And just as he didn't know what made Petunia give him the _Hot Wheels_ one minute, and then laugh at her husband's _Nintendo_ wheeze the next, he couldn't figure out what had made Malfoy so hateful and desperate to have him out of Slytherin. And what's more, he decided he wasn't interested in the Prat's reasons. Inconstant, 'almost' people were a pain in the arse.

**oOo**

The clock struck seven. It was Book Club time. Millicent hove into view, and stomped around the club's seating area demanding to check peoples' copies of '_A Tale of Two Cities'_. If the middle pages weren't well-thumbed, she knew people had started - and skipped straight to the end. Then she gave them a right tongue-lashing.

"You moron, Templeman!" She said to Lara, "You can't just go from '_It was the best of times, it was the worst of times_' to '_It's a far, far better thing that I do_ …' You miss the whole character arc of Sydney Carton!"

Harry enjoyed Dickens - well, the BBC adaptations at any rate - and had started the book. He'd planned to speed read through to the end that afternoon, but Malfoy had turned all snarky and repellent, and he hadn't been in a reading mood. That was the reason he was sitting with Harriett, and hadn't joined the Book Club. Malfoy stuffed up everything. Fact.

"Two across, Potter." Prodded Harriett, "_What's the common muggle name for ghastrous grub? _Six letters, begins with 'M'."

Harry looked up, but he still wasn't paying much attention to the word puzzle. Millicent's off-sider, Emerald Sykes, was now giving an impassioned character analysis of Sydney Carton. He was, according to Emerald, a self-pitying cockroach of a man, for whom no one could feel a whit of sympathy.

"Malfoy." Muttered Harry.

Harriett tried to contain her laughter and ended up blowing a snot bubble out of her right nostril.

"Class move, Harriett." Said Harry, his revulsion quickly turning to amusement.

"Malfoy's a ghastrous grub?!" Laughed Harriet.

"What?"

Harry looked down at the crossword and read the clue. He shrugged his shoulders,

"Malfoy, cockroach, ghastrous grub … same thing. Maggot, the answer's maggot - and he's one of those too."

Harriett kept laughing, and asked what had happened between Harry and Malfoy. Harry didn't tell her because he didn't know. She lost interest and went on to another clue just as Harry's ears perked up when he heard the officially 'lush' Tracey Davis pipe up in the Book Club. Oh, sodding, buggery hell! If only he'd finished that bloody book, he could go and sit next to Tracey and be enraptured as she got all teary and emotional over Sydney Carton's sacrifice. Perhaps he'd have been able to pull her into a manly embrace? Malfoy's fault he couldn't. Harry now loathed him beyond belief.

"It made me weep." Revealed Tracey, "Going to the guillotine all for the love of Lucie! You're right, Emerald; he did start off as a self-pitying cockroach, but he developed a conscience and grew. What a sacrifice, taking the place of Lucie's lover on the scaffold!"

Millicent quickly grilled Tracey on where she thought Sydney had begun to change - primarily so she could rule out Tracey having only read the edited highlights. But the divine Miss Davis was up to the challenge and passed Millicent's probing with flying colours. _God Almighty_! She was a fine sight at any time, but on her feet and impassioned, Tracey Davis was magnificent! Harry felt as if he were melting into the upholstery.

"Are you alright?" Asked Harriett, "You've started panting."

"Blocked nose." Lied Harry, "Always makes me pant."

"Ghastrous grub powder's good for a blocked nose; I'll ask Malfoy for some!"

Harry was embarrassed at openly swooning over Tracey, and laughed along out of all proportion to the funniness of Harriett's remark, which wasn't really funny at all. People looked over, including Malfoy, who'd also heard his name mentioned. Millicent rapped the table to get the Book Club back on track, but the Platinum Prat was heading Harry's way.

"What are you both talking about?"

The question was addressed to Harriett and Harry, but Malfoy had no interest in Harriett. She didn't care and answered anyway.

"Cockroaches, grubs, and _certain_ people!"

"You've got a bloody nerve, Potter!' Hissed Malfoy, "You slunk into Slytherin lower than a grub, and you'll be leaving the same way!"

"Piss off, Malfoy."

"You and your stupid crossword can piss off! You can piss off back to Gryffindor!"

Not the cleverest of replies from Malfoy, but he did follow it up by snatching the crossword puzzle and tearing it up. I'm not leaving Slytherin without getting you, thought Harry. He thrust out his leg sharply, hoping to topple Malfoy with the sole of his foot and then pounce on him. It was a wrestling move much beloved by Dudley, though Harry had only ever experienced it from the other end. He missed.

"Ha!" Crowed Malfoy, "What the hell was that, Potter?!"

"Don't!" Harriett whispered to Harry.

Harry sat on the sofa, his leg extended ninety degrees like a railway signal, and felt like a fool. He brought his foot down sharply before anyone else could catch his failed wrestling move. It clipped Malfoy's ankle, and sent the Prat plummeting to the carpet. Harry first gave a look of victory at felling his opponent, then he gave a howl - Malfoy had scrabbled around on the carpet and was biting his calf. He pulled his leg away and dived on top of Malfoy.

"Stop!" Hissed Harriett.

Harry continued pummelling Malfoy, but did manage to look up at Harriett.

"It's alright." Harry assured Harriett, who was looking alarmed.

"No. No it's not." She whispered, not looking at Harry but somewhere else.

Shit. Snape was standing there.

**oOo**

"Decided against joining the Book Club, Malfoy?"

"Yes, sir."

"You too, Potter?"

Harry shrugged, and Snape supplied the answer himself.

"Yes, sir. Couldn't be bothered, sir. I prefer to bicker and fight like a six-year-old, sir."

Sod off! You didn't say that to Malfoy! This was definitely one of those moments when Harry did _not_ like Snape. He didn't feel bad about it either; Snape wasn't trying very hard to be mates. The man turned sharply on his heel to face the rest of the common room, and they all pretended they hadn't been gawping.

"Baddock? You'll swap beds with Malfoy. Take him up and reintroduce him to the first-year dorm. Haldane? Escort Potter to the second-year dorm; he'll be using your bed. Oh, and gentlemen? Do make sure Malfoy and Potter brush their teeth properly, and don't let them throw their clothes on the floor; you know how disobedient tired children can get."

It was quarter past seven, and _another_ sodding early bedtime. Harry had never felt so belittled in his life.

**oOo**

Snape felt like knocking their heads together, though given how angry he was, it was perhaps better he hadn't. Not such a good look levitating two students you'd just wilfully concussed up to the hospital wing. Fortunately, he'd been able to subdue his urge and settle instead for disdainful ennui. It meant Potter had shouldered the same blame as Malfoy, which was unfair as Malfoy had undoubtedly started the fight. Still, he'd be lying to claim punishing Potter troubled him. An early bedtime? That sounded like heaven to Snape. And he had his reasons for treading warily around Malfoy; he needed to keep him at least semi-sweet. Difficult conversations with that boy lay ahead.

At least Nott was recovering well. Snape rolled his eyes at the stupidity of that thought; as if a child ever recovered from a monstrous father. He reworded his thoughts. The hex was gone. Albus had been true to his word and worked all night with Poppy to remove Wilberforce Nott's handiwork from his tormented son. Snape had sent up Armitage-Brown to brew calming draughts and pain relief as Nott underwent the excruciating procedure. The head prefect's prowess with potions would be needed in the not too distant future; of that Snape was certain. The boy was physically recovered, and getting to know Claude and Audrey Delingpole on his own before Snape escorted Archie to Gloucestershire to join them.

He indulged himself in a few moments' pity for Nott's plight. His father dead and buried, and forging links with a new family - all within the space of a few weeks. The rapidity seemed shocking. But Snape shook that thought from his head. Hard times called for hard measures. Sentimentality could have its day when, and if, darkness was defeated.


	3. The Hog's Head

**A/N 1: **I'd like to say a big 'THANK YOU!' to **CeVanne**, **Fan**, **Guest** and **hamlet **and the other reviewers. It means so much that you don't simply 'follow' or 'favourite', but take the time to share your thoughts. Who wants to post into a vacuum? I love writing, but I don't think I'd have the gumption to post without you. Huge thanks!

**A/N 2: **_What_?! No Harry in this chapter?! Oh Lord, 'tis true. But fear not, the Wonder-boy is back with a vengeance next week. I hope people still enjoy it - not least because it took an absolute age to write. But I also don't think you can have Harry and Snape exist in isolation - their motivations are dependent on others.

**A/N 3: **I look forward to reading your thoughts!

_**The Hog's Head**_

_**The Hog's Head, 11 am, Easter Sunday, 1995**_

Snape stood alone, but then so did the others. Those that came to _The Hog's Head_ had all made the choice to detach themselves from society, or had that choice made for them. Anyone with a convivial bone in their body gave this place a wide berth, and kept on walking to _The Three Broomsticks_. Along with the absence of convivial folk, one could add those types who placed a premium on safety, cleanliness and service. It so happened that Severus Snape valued all of the above, and it also so happened that each and every time he entered _The Hog's Head_, he asked himself why. But it wasn't a genuine question; he knew why he came. Penance. A penance not levied by any priest, but by himself; the only penance that truly mattered.

He carried his pint to the usual corner, but not before turning his gaze to the staircase. The head turn was more than habit; it was a sacrament. Each time he looked he was transported back to 1979 and the life changing steps he'd taken up the rickety flight. Aberforth had turfed him out soon after, but not soon enough. He'd heard Sybil Trelawney. Snape paused, and once again saw the look of rapture on Voldemort's face as he relayed the prophesy. With The Dark Lord's elation he'd felt himself lifted to the highest tier of the Death Eaters, and for the briefest of moments it had pleased him. But long before the carnage, he knew he was doomed.

He stood opposite the staircase a few seconds longer. With eyes closed, he made his intercessions for the Potters and Longbottoms, and vowed, yet again, that next term he'd find a sliver of Alice Longbottom's luminous spirit in her lumpish son - and stop tormenting the poor wretch. He reached his corner seat, and the only thing _The Hog's Head_ was good for: solitude. No fellow drinker would dream of speaking to him, and Aberforth, who appeared to despise the art of hospitality, certainly wouldn't ask after his day. Snape was alone with his thoughts, and once again back to the business of waiting.

He was waiting for something to happen in the Triwizard Tournament. He knew it would; just didn't know what it was. He was waiting for you-know-who to return. It was coming. Over breakfast, his arm had ached and sent such a spasm shooting up to his temple that he couldn't bear the prospect of company. Because that was the other thing he was waiting for: a discussion with Minerva over Potter's return to Gryffindor. He placed his pint on the table, always a comforting sight, and calculated how much drinking time he had before he needed to get back.

He made short work of his first pint, and the arrival of the second coincided with a happy thought. It wasn't often those things occurred in _The Hog's Head_, and Severus made the most of it. He was taking Archie to join his parents and Theo that afternoon; would the Delingpoles' glorious housekeeper, Miss Goggins, be in Gloucestershire? And if so, how quickly could he jettison Nott and Archie to reacquaint himself with the capable - and energetic - woman? But, as ever in his sad and sorry life, those delicious thoughts were soon overtaken by his fucking Snakes. He closed his eyes, and recalled the events of the night prior.

**oOo**

**Snape's quarters, 12:30 am, Easter Sunday, 1995**

Severus padded from sitting room to study, and headed to the door that led from his outer office into the common room. He relished these hours, the hours of dorm curfew onwards. The absence of students brought about a hazy euphoria in him. It was a time of utter mellowness, like having laudanum piped through the air vents. Whatever squabbles, scuffles and feverishness the day brought had settled by now. Were the matters trivial, Severus could look back and shrug. The pests were all asleep. Late at night, Pansy's wailing and gnashing of teeth over someone hiding a favourite shoe were nowhere near as excruciating. Neither was Baddock and Delingpole's claim so exasperating that placing the electric blue, suede stiletto behind the grandfather clock had somehow been an accident.

Were the incidents more serious, he had the benefit of distance to aid his contemplation. Theo, Lucius and Alicia Mayhew all claimed a portion of his contemplation that night, and then he stopped. Enough. The rest of the night was his. He'd debated bothering Minerva, but decided instead to re-read _A Tale of Two Cities_. It wasn't his favourite Dickens; Severus found Carton's motivation insipid. It irked him. Going to the guillotine all for love? Oh, spare him. Where was the righteous fight against tyranny and cruelty? Still, Dickens wrote some rip-roaring prose, and with Miss Bulstrode safely abed, Severus could pick out the highlights. He wasn't sure he even had the book any longer, and so made the short trip into the common room; someone was bound to have left a copy lying around. Opening the door, he saw the unmistakable platinum blond head, and felt both unsurprised and surprised.

Given the early hour he'd sent him to bed, it wasn't so surprising Malfoy had awoken. What was surprising was he'd left the dormitory. Draco wasn't often a rule-breaker, especially following a punishment. His main moments of rebellion came when Potter was around. Then he abandoned self-preservation to launch spiteful, jealousy-fuelled attacks. But that had changed over the course of the year, and Snape had more than once found himself in the peculiar position of dispensing discipline for actions that had faintly pleased him - the nonsense up in the library, the silliness with the Durmstrang cloaks, amongst others. The unauthorised trip to Hogsmeade with Delingpole in tow hadn't pleased him in the slightest but, once he'd calmed down, the camaraderie between the two boys had. He looked around the vast common room, half hoping to see Potter lurking there. But no, Malfoy was alone.

What surprised him more was that Malfoy hadn't flinched. Snape hadn't been particularly quiet upon entering the room; the large wooden door hadn't closed noiselessly. And yet the boy remained ramrod straight in front of the fire, balling up parchment and hurling it into the flames. Disquiet stopped him from frog-marching Malfoy back to the second-year dorm, and dreaming up a punishment chore as tedious as it was demeaning. Snape's late evenings were sacrosanct; students polluted them at their peril. Yet he checked himself.

There weren't many times when Severus Snape was uncertain of what was happening in his house, but he had the feeling that this was one of them. He'd assumed Potter and Malfoy's evening performance was an overblown tiff, borne of listlessness. Students got like that in the Easter break with no rigid timetable to keep them on track. It was the reason Snape campaigned every year to have the students turfed out. As yet, Dumbledore had declined to take his suggestion on board. It hadn't seemed a serious incident. From what Snape saw both boys were bloody hopeless scrappers; the 'fight' appeared to consist of Malfoy gnawing at Potter's shin and Potter landing a few limp-wristed slaps around Malfoy's shoulders, and he hadn't deemed it necessary to call both boys to his study for a more exacting discussion.

Had he miscalculated? After all, he'd barely been in the dungeons of late, consumed with the business of Wilberforce Nott's funeral, Theo's recovery, and the Delingpoles. Judging from the way he was hurling parchment into the flames, this was a deeply unhappy Draco Malfoy. Snape knew better than to ask him outright what the matter was.

"You did the right thing with Archie." Came the low murmur.

"Did I?"

What was this? No standing as his housemaster entered, no look of alarm to be found breaking curfew? Snape walked over and leant on the back of an armchair, staring down at the boy. A lifetime of affecting not to care about his father's insults had done Draco no favours. The unpleasant curl of his lip coupled with the arrogant toss of his head showed the world that here was a nasty little so-and-so, chock full of haughtiness. He was nothing of the sort.

"Delingpole would be in the arms of a madman if it weren't for you."

"You're forgetting Potter and Granger."

Still no 'sir', Severus noted.

"I'm not. They did well, but you were Delingpole's saving grace - and the next time you answer me, Malfoy, you'd better have a 'sir' at the end of it."

That brought a fleeting shuffle of discomfort.

"Did I do the right thing, sir? I mean, did I do it because it was right? I did the thing that would save my father …"

And so it comes, thought Snape … Lucius. He realised then the defection from awful parents hadn't been so difficult for Pucey, Bletchley, Blishwick et al. Their parents were so all-encompassingly vile they'd aided their children's revolt. But Lucius was different. Did he possess some decency that made him love his son? Or was he simply too clever to be ghastly all the time? Did he understand that the tyrant must also cosset in order to keep the subdued from revolt? The day the Ministry came to inspect, Snape had seen his one-time friend first snub his son, then make disparaging comments about him to Wilberforce Nott. Yet he'd also seen Lucius double back from Dumbledore's office, his outstretched arm pulling Draco into an embrace … '_My son'_. It was all Lucius had said before leaving, but it had been enough.

**oOo**

He looked down and panicked slightly, realising he had less than a quarter pint left. A quick tap on the table saw Aberforth shoot him a surly glance, and nod at his gesture for another. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Severus had always known of the Lucius problem; it'd just been pushed back to wait its turn until the myriad other problems had been dealt with. But its time had come; the only way to save Draco Malfoy, and quite possibly Slytherin, was to save Lucius Malfoy. A sobering thought … and he couldn't have that. The pint appeared with the requisite quarter inch of foam atop - half of which was lost as Aberforth slammed it onto the battered mahogany table. Snape barely noticed; his thoughts were again occupied by Malfoy.

**oOo**

"I told Potter and Granger I'd have helped Archie regardless of my father. But would I?"

Dear God, thought Snape; I hope that's a rhetorical question. He understood Draco perfectly, and it terrified him. Had Lucius known of the Mirror, would he have demanded Draco help him? Snape knew he would. And would Draco have surrendered Archie to him? He didn't doubt that, either. Mercifully, Draco never looked to Snape; just stayed staring at the flames until the heat made his eyes sore and pool with water.

"I'll always do what he wants me to do." Said Malfoy. "He has me, and he'll never let me go."

**oOo**

Time for another. He wandered over to the bar, briefly flirted with the idea of ordering a butter beer, realised that was insanity, and went for another pint of _Ogden's Dark and True_. Severus made once more for the table in the corner of the dimly-lit pub, and yet more thoughts of Draco Malfoy.

**oOo**

"He's not like Nott's dad."

Malfoy had spoken after five clear minutes of silence, and the words startled Severus. He walked to the boy.

"Move over."

He nudged him his foot, and Draco shuffled sideways to make room on the rug. Still miserable, but the rare treat of such an intimate overture from his housemaster began to eat away at that misery.

"Continue." Said Snape.

"I didn't know the man outside _The Hog's Head _was Nott's dad, but I knew there was something terrible about him. My father's not like that."

If only he was; then Snape could talk Draco out of his ruinous loyalty.

"You know I was friends with your father; I know his good points. At the time I thought I had another friend, but Lucius was the one who stayed true. He didn't abandon me."

"Who were your other friends, sir?"

Avery and Mulciber sprang to mind, but Snape had no wish to share that. In any case, Snape had always loathed them; they'd been classed as his friends simply by dint of not objecting to his company.

"I spent time with the other Slytherins …" He said.

"Spent time?" Queried Draco, "That doesn't sound too good."

"It wasn't. Slytherin was a very different place back then, a lonely place …"

Snape paused to rip up some of the parchment, and lob it into the flames.

"I wish I'd stayed being lonely …"

"What do you mean, sir?"

"Let me just say I wasn't very discerning in the choices I made. No … that's not quite right. I made choices even though I knew they were wrong …"

"Why?"

"Good question."

Snape stopped to give a bitter laugh.

"Malfoy? If I ever wilfully ignore you; if I ever see you sitting alone day after day, week after week, pat you on the shoulder and say, 'A bit of quiet 'me' time, eh? How lovely!', then I hereby give you permission to take the cane from my study and thrash the living daylights out of me!"

Malfoy's eyes went wide before he laughed.

"Likewise, if I ever turn a blind eye to you taunting and bullying others, you may reach for the cane."

"Why did you do that, sir?"

"Because it was easy; it was all so devilishly easy … lonely, reviled people are more pliable than willow wands. So easy … so easy to drown out that voice telling you it's wrong. Until one day it isn't easy at all."

"What happens then?"

"The reckoning, that's what happens. You pay the price. You give up on your long forgotten dreams; you dwindle into teaching and you become housemaster to seventy nauseating brats … I'm being flippant, Malfoy. And why am I?"

"Because the reality is so bad?"

"Indeed. Bad, and needless. There's always another way."

"Your housemaster sounds like a dick. And I'm not going to apologise for saying that, sir."

"I don't want you to; you're absolutely right."

Thereafter the only sound was the tearing and scrunching of parchment followed by the hiss of the engulfing flames. Draco was using the time to work up to something, and it finally found voice.

"No one's alone in Slytherin, but that's not the same as not being lonely, is it? I mean … you can be lonely with people crowded all around you; don't you think?"

Snape did think that. His past wasn't so distant it had softened the memories of his first-year teaching and sitting amongst his colleagues; each one of whom would cheerfully have held a wand to his throat as the others lived out their inner Voldemort and tormented him. The loneliness of the busy staffroom was what had driven him to _The Hog's Head_, where even Aberforth Dumbledore had taken pity and spoken to him.

"I do, Malfoy. And if anyone's in that position, here's what you tell them: listen to that voice, the voice that always knows right from wrong. Because, believe me, a person _does_ know right from wrong. Don't fall for the guff some people spout that a person can be so blinded by their awful upbringing they don't know right from wrong. A person always knows. Always."

"What if they don't listen?"

"Then they exist with the horror."

Draco closed his eyes, and bowed his head into his lap. Snape placed his hand on the back of his neck, and squeezed gently.

"You tell that person to listen to what that voice is telling them, and then to go and talk it out with someone they trust."

Draco lifted up his head.

"I'll tell them that, sir."

Something was whirring and clicking in his brain; Severus could see.

**oOo**

Time alone with Snape didn't happen often with sixty-nine others vying for attention. Malfoy treasured it, and his gloom began to lift.

"I know he was a dick, but was your housemaster strict? As strict as you, I mean? Is that where you learned to slipper students at the drop of a hat, sir?!"

"Are you implying my rule here is a little rigid, Mister Malfoy?" Demanded Snape with mock pomposity.

"_I_ personally don't believe it for a second, sir." Smirked Malfoy, "But Potter's made a few comments …"

That's more like it, thought Snape. If he's trying to land Potter in it, he can't be feeling completely out-of-sorts.

**oOo**

"This is boring." Snape announced, after he'd thrown yet another a wad of parchment into the flames. "Take a look at this."

He balled up more parchment, and took out his wand. Tossing the ball in the air, he blasted it with an '_Incantatio Catapultum!_', showering both he and Malfoy with white ash.

"Woah!" Cried Malfoy, "How did you do that?"

Snape leaned down to Malfoy, and whispered into his ear.

"Don't repeat this to another living soul, but some people in Hogwarts are … magical!"

"Ha, ha. I meant I'd never heard the spell before."

"New one I came up with." Bragged Snape, "It's amazing how inventive you become when your vile students contrive to get you inundated with irritating awards …"

Malfoy grinned as he remembered the day they'd all been achingly compliant, sweeping the board of all the sappy good behaviour awards. He'd spent twenty minutes pleading with Ravenclaw first-years Suzette Braithwaite and Henry Porter to look grateful as he read to them when Madam Pomfrey checked the ward. They hadn't been interested, and he'd had to resort to threats of Goyle nicking their Friday parcels if they didn't comply. The memory must have shown on his face. Snape looked suspicious.

"Just how did you become '_Poppy's Poppet of the Week'_?"

"Altruism, pure and true." Replied Malfoy with a sickly smile, "You should try it, sir."

Snape rapped him with his wand, and then ordered him to spit onto the parchment before balling it up. Malfoy did, and watched as the parchment blasted luminous green ash.

"It's the potassium in your saliva." Informed Snape. "You had the banana split for pudding, I presume?"

"Yes, sir."

"And you didn't brush your teeth."

"Not exhaustively, sir." Fudged Malfoy, wondering if the spitty parchment test was yet another weapon in Snape's arsenal for total dominion over his house. But Snape had moved on from spit and the brushing of teeth.

"My head of house wasn't strict at all, as it happens. No doubt you nitwits will feel jealous hearing that. For a start, his rooms were well away from us; he didn't have a clue what was happening in the common room and dorms, and the times he did cosy up to us, we all knew he was looking for a place to spend his summer. I was never favoured with his attention. My family had no villas in the Languedoc. But I was favoured with the attention of others; attention I'd have been a lot better off without …"

"Did no one get in trouble?"

"Oh, there was trouble alright. The worst of it was never punished, but when things arose that might jeopardise his position, he never dealt with it. He let Apollyon Pringle and his cane do that - and then pretended he knew nothing about the matter."

"Were you …?"

"Yes." Replied Snape, "A few times. It was never justified."

The room was quiet for a moment, until Snape exploded his own spitty parchment ball into purple ash.

"Broccoli," he informed Malfoy, "has traces of arsenic, you know."

Draco was a quick study. He perfected the enunciation of Snape's catapult spell in no time, and the pair settled into casting practice. After a time, the conversation started again.

"Sir? How did you find out we'd sneaked off to Hogsmeade?"

Snape sighed. It wasn't his normal practice to divulge information about individual students, but they needed to know about Nott, and better for them to have the discussion now. That way the matter would hopefully have run its course by the time Nott returned from Gloucestershire.

"I didn't have to figure much out. Nott led me by the nose - quite literally."

Snape knew Malfoy had replaced Potter's cloak correctly, but Theo had gone into his cupboard later to purposefully put it on the wrong shelf. Malfoy nodded as he realised why Nott had taken so long to get onto the quidditch pitch that day. In case Snape hadn't looked in his cupboard, Nott had spilt a flask of Pungous Onion in his office. Snape was meticulous with his potions; the ruse alerted him immediately that someone had been poking around.

"He wanted Archie caught, didn't he sir?"

"He did. His father had been planning to snatch Archie for a while. It terrified Theo when you all came back from Hogsmeade with your tale of the man in black. He knew it was his father."

"How long was his father like that?"

"I suspect Wilberforce Nott was always inclined to tyranny and madness, but Theo would have truly borne the brunt of it once his mother died."

"I've still got my mother." Whispered Draco.

Snape nodded. Narcissa was far removed from the down-to-earth, wholesome Molly Weasley, but in her limited way, she wasn't without goodness. Still, the hour was late, and though he'd put a smile on Malfoy's face, he knew it was a stop gap. The boy's soul searching would continue, and as far as Snape could see, unless Malfoy faced his demons, it would be devoid of felicitous outcome. Could he turn his back on Lucius? Did Snape have the wherewithal to prevent him following his father? That, _and_ fulfil his pledge over Potter? He felt himself stretched so thin, he feared he'd tear apart. Sleep was needed.

"Bed, Malfoy. And six inches of '_I will not leave the dorm after curfew'_."

Draco scoffed at the minimal punishment, and pushed himself to standing.

"I wish I'd figured out that parchment trick."

"Not to worry, Malfoy; you'll tell everyone you did anyway."

"True, sir." He grinned. "Goodnight."

**oOo**

A rough-hewn bowl of dried, salted pork came skidding across the table top.

"Soaks up the ale." Said the magical world's least hospitable publican.

"Or gives me such a thirst I drink my own bodyweight in ale." Said Snape, eyeing the salt-encrusted meat. "Best bring me another."

His pint appeared in _un_timely fashion, and Snape pondered the wisdom of ordering a whisky chaser. But the salted pork was foul, and even the _Ogden's_ couldn't wash away the rancid taste. No more. The Hog's Head had served its purpose; he'd sent his prayers for the deceased and the suffering, and for a time he'd escaped Hogwarts, Minerva and children.

But increasingly of late, Aberforth's inn served another purpose. It caused Snape to realise how much he'd changed; that his path hadn't been determined when he'd fallen into the arms of Voldemort. He looked around the shady room with its shadier inhabitants. He could have belonged here once, but not now. The faces around him were mean, and the voices ugly. No one spoke; they grunted and hissed. He took a closer look, and it was worse. The gloom made the wrinkles in faces seem like ravines; eyes shone yellow, and the slightest action appeared full of sinister intent.

"Leaving so soon, Mister Snape?" Asked Aberforth, "You've almost a full pot sitting on your table."

"I have to get out." Snape replied. "It's too dark in here."

The publican lay down the filthy cloth he'd been using to wipe glasses, and fixed him with a quizzical look.

"That it is, Mister Snape. One time I'd have said the dark suited you, but by and by I've begun to see differently."

**oOo**

Delivered from gloom to the cold glare of spring sunshine, Severus didn't know what had hit him. But as a hand snaked around and gave his backside a pinch, he recognised it was Polly Pinkerton turning up for the afternoon shift.

"Quick one?" She enquired, nodding backwards to the pub's deserted delivery yard.

He gave a slight whimper. It was like asking a four-year-old child if he could possibly squeeze in the time to gorge himself in _Honeydukes_. And yet he did it; for once in his life, he answered that request in the negative.

"No time. I have to get back."

Polly laughed in his face before feeling his brow for signs of fever. Snape snatched the hand, turned her smartly, and sent her on her way with a fond wallop.

"Impudent wench!"

She laughed harder, and Snape pulled her back.

"Why here? Why not ask Rosmerta for work?"

"Keep with the good folks, and leave the bad to fester? Folks aren't all bad; not if you catch 'em soon enough. Besides, Aberforth pays more than Rosmerta!"

He watched her sashay to _The Hog's Head_, and knew there was a reason he'd been drawn to her.

"Happy Easter, Severus!" She called.

Easter. Re-birth and new life. She'd spoken true again. Severus turned and walked into the open sunshine. He'd sunk as low as was possible, and yet he'd changed. Albus had proffered an olive branch, albeit a conditional one. But it was his Snakes that had changed him; that arrogant, vicious nest he'd inherited in '81. Time to repay the favour. Severus intended to do his utmost to seal off the avenue that led to The Dark Lord and ruin. Each stride gained momentum until he was practically running back to Hogwarts. Back to Malfoy and the rest of his Snakes, back to Minerva and Potter, back to light.


	4. The Note

**A/N: **Many thanks to guest and guest and hamlet. And yes, hamlet, Polly P is there for a reason!

**The Note**

**4:30 pm, Easter Sunday, 1995**

"_Found him_!"

Brilliant, thought Harry. Alicia Mayhew. Just what I sodding need. The pudgy first-year, a vision in pink angora, clattered over to where he sat, and gave him a gentle-_ish_ kick in the shin.

"What's your problem, then?"

Harry could only look at her. Not because he thought himself above responding to first-years, rather because he didn't know where to start. How could he tell her what his problem was in any way she'd understand? He dropped his gaze to his lap, and felt Alicia plonking her ample bottom down beside him. Next came a nudge.

"Big second-year, eh?! Don't want to talk to a firstie!"

The short girl gave him a cheeky grin as she referenced his night of ignominy in the second-year dorm. Unaccountably, Harry put his arm around her and gave her a squeeze; then moroseness beckoned.

That morning, he'd returned to his own dorm only to be showered in scarlet confetti the second he walked through the door.

"Oh bravo, Malfoy!" Cheered Zabini.

The Platinum Pillock strode to the centre of the room.

"Yes well, the saliva was acidic, which turns the parchment anything from salmon pink to deep red."

Zabini and Crabbe nodded, but Goyle looked bamboozled.

"Why?" He asked.

"Parchment has the same properties as litmus."

Malfoy supplied tersely before waving away Goyle. The last thing he wanted was Gregory Goyle butting in with his dim-witted questions and comments; he was busily working up to something here.

"That's why I had you eat the orange, Vince. Orange is very acidic, hence the scarlet. And we had to have scarlet what with Potter being a Gryffindor!"

"But he's a Slytherin now." Said Goyle.

Malfoy's eyes narrowed as he turned slowly to the lumpish boy.

"What's special about today, Goyle?"

Goyle wasn't sure, so Harry helped him.

"It's Easter Sunday, Greg."

"Chocolate!" Roared Crabbe.

At the mention of the word, Goyle began to visibly salivate. Even Zabini looked excited,

"We've got to get to the chocolate before Snape comes in and starts rationing it! Remember last year? He made us give half of it to the poor brats in Hogsmeade."

The three boys raced to the common room, leaving only Harry and Malfoy.

"Tick! Tock! Tick! Tock! Easter Sunday, Potter … Time's up." Said Malfoy, before he left too.

**oOo**

Snape had been wrong about Malfoy claiming glory for inventing '_Incantatio Catapultum_!' As a matter of fact, over breakfast that morning Malfoy went to great pains to give his housemaster full credit. Though certain other details did veer into the realms of fantasy …

" … Snape kept me up until half past one in the morning teaching me his new spell! You know, I think he realises we've all been a little down after what happened to Theo …" Malfoy said.

"Could've spent more time with us then," Grumbled Pansy, "we've barely seen him this week."

"Be fair, Pansy." Said AB, "He's had an awful lot on his plate. Theo was in a shocking state; Snape had to spend most of his time with him, and he had to sort out Theo going to live with Archie's family."

"Why has he gone there?" Asked Lara Templeman.

"You know why." Replied AB.

"I don't know why, but I think it's great!" Said Archie, "I can't wait to go home this afternoon; I've got a brother now!"

Malfoy gave Archie a sweet, tolerant smile, and Harry could sense a barb was about to fly.

"Archie?" Said Malfoy, "Theo's parents are both dead now, and his only living relative is a horrid aunt. Snape wouldn't allow Dumbledore to force Theo into living with an aunt who'd mistreat him. Other heads of house may do things like that, but it's not what Snape does with his Slytherins."

Harry remembered the evening he'd been trapped in the sarcophagus with Malfoy, and all the details of Dursley life he'd shared. He wanted to kick himself now. A thought occurred to him about The Prat's cleverness. Hermione was smart - everyone knew that. But how brilliant could Malfoy be if only he didn't devote 95% of his effort into being a monumental shit?

"And don't forget, Pansy," Said Sophie Blishwick, "you have us prefects. We're here to listen and help."

Those words, albeit unwittingly, stung Harry just as much as Malfoy's. He looked around the table at Sophie, Pucey, AB, and Latimer. The Slytherin prefects were great; he loved spending time with any of them, but though they'd certainly listen, none of them could help him. Oh bloody hell! Malfoy had piped up again.

"That's right." Agreed The Platinum Ponce, "You have the prefects, and you also have us senior students."

The scary sound of someone choking panicked everyone, and Crabbe leapt up to slap Millicent on the back.

"_What_?!" She cried, still coughing up bits of porridge. "You're calling yourself a 'senior student'?!"

"I'm not calling myself anything;" Malfoy said, "I'm only repeating what Snape told me."

"You're having a laugh!" Jeered Arno Van Den Berg.

"Snape's words, not mine." Snapped Malfoy.

"Bollocks they were!" Said Harry.

"What would you know, Potter? You barely know Snape." Hissed Malfoy, before lightening his tone for the others. "Who was it Snape dragged out of bed at midnight to show that new spell? Me, that's who. And why? Because he knew we were all feeling a little neglected and down in the dumps about Theo. He wanted a quick learner to master it, and come in to cheer you lot up. He said I was invaluable to him. It's not my fault he called me a senior student. Complain to him, not me."

This was brilliant, thought Harry. Malfoy had really shot himself in the foot this time. No way had Snape done that, and Millicent wouldn't let it rest. She'd keep probing until he was exposed as a lying, stinking fraud. Harry leant back in his chair wearing the smug smile of satisfaction. Two seconds later, and Harry's dream came true. Snape let himself into the Great Hall from the teachers' entrance, nimbly hopped off the dais and came striding over to them. As he got closer, Harry nearly wet himself with excitement. Here it comes, Malfoy! Total humiliation!

Pausing to pluck out some orange parchment from Elsa Tobin's hair, Snape's eyes roamed until he found Malfoy.

"Been teaching them your new spell, I see?"

"Not my spell, sir. That honour goes to you! I told them how you'd taught me it at one o'clock this morning."

"Impressed with your old housemaster, are you?" Snape asked everyone, before patting Malfoy on the shoulder, "Well done, Malfoy."

Oh, shitting, bloody hell! It was all true. Harry couldn't believe it.

"Now! Listen to me. I have important business today …"

"What's that, sir?" Asked Malcolm Baddock.

Snape picked up a spoon and rapped Malcolm on the head with it.

"Never question me, Mister Baddock. However, as I'm such an indulgent soul, I shall let your impertinence slide this once and tell you. I have an urgent meeting in Hogsmeade, so I may as well take all the excess chocolate with me …"

A groan sounded around the table.

"Quiet!" Warned Snape, " '_He who is not contented with what he has, would not be contented with what he would like to have._' " If you don't like that piece of advice, take it up with Socrates."

He turned and pointed a finger at Archie.

"Later, Delingpole, I shall be taking you to Gloucestershire; your parents have been warned not to give you more chocolate."

Snape swivelled on his heel, and Harry found himself squarely in the housemaster's sights.

"And before I leave this afternoon, Potter, you and I are having a talk. _Don't_ wander off anywhere."

Snape swept out of the hall, and the Snakes started quizzing each other about how much chocolate they'd managed to hide before Snape snaffled a hefty portion for the poor children of Hogsmeade. Harry didn't join in with that though; his thoughts were on his talk with Snape. He was being sent back to Gryffindor. Why was he being so mental about it? He'd always known Slytherin was a temporary affair, and if he'd forgotten that, Malfoy had certainly reminded him enough in the last few days. But there was just something so final about hearing it from Snape. Final and awful. His throat tightened, and he worried he might start weeping at any moment. He staved off that humiliation by taking quick, deep breaths.

"You alright?" Asked Harriett, "You're panting again. Nose blocked?"

"Yeah." Said Harry quietly, "I've got a potion in my trunk … think I'll go and take some."

He left the hall and he ran and ran - not to his trunk, in fact nowhere near the dungeons. He simply ran in whichever direction he thought he might find solitude.

**oOo**

He lasted outside in one of Hagrid's store sheds for a few hours, but the fickle Scottish weather had changed to single digit temperatures. The cold got to him, and he moved back into the castle. The third door along from the library was where Madam Pince kept all the damaged books that were waiting to be repaired. Harry suspected they'd been forgotten about; they were rotting and the whole room stank. It was a horrible place to sit, but handy if you wanted to be alone.

He was jolted from his recollections of breakfast by Alicia leaning into him.

"If you talk to me, I won't tell anyone what you say. Promise."

He believed her, and something about the honest decency choked him up. In lieu of reply, he gave her another squeeze.

"Are you in massive trouble with Snape? I heard him at breakfast. He said you and he are going to have a talk, and we all know what that means."

Harry shrugged the universal 'dunno' signal.

"Here's something for you." She whispered conspiratorially.

She pressed a small glass jar into his hand.

"It's chest rub for a cold - my secret weapon!"

Choked up or not, Harry had to ask her what the heck she was going on about.

"How does that help when you're in trouble with Snape?!"

"He can spot forced tears a mile off, but he doesn't know about this. You put the teensiest dab in the corner of your eye, and _bingo_! You're crying buckets. Snape'll get all sniffy and say, 'Mister Potter, I sincerely hope you're not under the misapprehension that your snivelling is in any way going to lessen the thrashing I have planned for you.' But, guess what? It does! Every time!"

"Thanks, Lissy. But you keep it; no one needs it more than you."

"You make a fair point." Replied Alicia.

She pocketed the rub, and went back to swinging her stumpy legs on the bench. Harry remembered he'd disliked her when he first came to Slytherin. She was one of the few Snakes that seemed to embody all his prejudices; she was moody, sulky and sly. She caused trouble and argued with the rest of the first-year girls constantly; even they didn't speak to her a lot of the time. And she was far too cosy with Marcus Flint - always smirking as she did his bidding. But like the rest of dungeon life, she'd grown on him, and he wished she hadn't.

"Where is he?" Mumbled Alicia.

Harry didn't hear; he was too ensconced in his thoughts. They were embarrassing thoughts - petty, childish, and just plain undignified. He was jealous Snape had woken up Malfoy and shown him that spell. Harry was sure he could have learnt it just as fast as Malfoy. Jealous that Snape held The Prat in high regard. Shamefully, he was jealous that Snape had made such an effort to find a decent home for Nott. Bloody hell! How could he think that after what Theo had been through? He felt guilty, but couldn't help feeling that way all the same. He was jealous of Alicia; her biggest worry in life was getting into trouble with Snape. He had some half-formed idea in his head about what a good position to be in that was, and wondered if he should tell her. Not the getting in trouble bit, but the bit that had Snape, or anyone, so concerned about you that he got cross. But he couldn't get the words to sound right, and he knew she'd never understand. He was singing from a different song sheet to the folks that belonged somewhere.

The sharp _ping!_ of leather soles sounded off the stone. Bollocks! She'd led Snape to him. Harry dropped his head, closed his eyes, and imagined The Git's cutting comment …

'_Potter, your disreputable belongings have been packed in your trunk. You will kindly remove both it and yourself from Slytherin House forthwith._'

He knew he'd have to summon the courage to say something insolent in return when all he really wanted to say was: please let me stay.

"He's here, but he's not talking much!" Declared Alicia.

"He's not talking much? Why ever not, Potter?!"

The jolly tones of Pucey brought instant relief.

"Not to worry. No time for chatting anyway. You were expected up in the Headmaster's study forty minutes ago. Snape and Professor McGonagall are waiting for you."

Harry closed his eyes briefly, then walked past Pucey to the door.

"Sure you don't want it?" Asked Alicia, pointing to the small bulge in her pocket.

"No thanks, Liss. It won't help."

**oOo**

**4:55 pm, Easter Sunday, 1995  
**

AB stood at the head of the seventh floor staircase.

"Too late, Potter. He had to leave."

Was that good or bad, Harry wondered.

"But he gave me this to give to you."

AB handed over a violet envelope containing a small square of delicate mint coloured parchment. It had a decorative border of silver phoenixes mingled with lemon sherbets, and looked like an invitation to a little girl's fourth birthday party. The incongruous spiky script gave Harry a smile, as he imagined Snape's distaste at having to use Dumbledore's personal stationery. It was, however, the only joy that small note held …

_Potter! Where in Merlin's name have you been? You will recall it was the_

_Headmaster's wish you stay in Slytherin House and under my care until_

_Easter. The fateful day is now upon us, and Professor McGonagall, for_

_ reasons best known to herself, is anxious you re-join her house._

Perhaps a note was kinder than hearing it from Snape directly. Perhaps … but those four lines still managed to flood Harry with sadness. He breathed in deeply, and attempted to swallow down the welter of emotions.

"Are you alright, Potter?"

AB, who'd stood at a discrete distance while Harry read the note, came over just as he shoved it in his back pocket.

"Yeah." Said Harry, straining to keep his voice light, "Usual Snape bollocking, that's all."

"Ah well, occupational hazard of being a Slytherin!"

"Yeah." Said Harry, the forced lightness all but gone.

"You look upset. Are you in trouble over something serious?"

"Don't you know what it is?" Harry asked AB.

"Crikey, no! Snape never divulges details unless it's important. But if you need to talk, I'm happy to."

The prospect of pouring his heart out to AB was at once both enticing and awful. Kind and gentle AB was the perfect listener. But, really, how could he help? And Harry hated the thought of being reduced to a whimpering, craven mess. In any case, he'd been unwanted for as long as he could remember. Dealing with that was a skill he'd long since mastered. Yes, the Slytherin sojourn had caused him to fall out of practice, but all he needed was a bit of time and space alone and he'd have those skills honed again in no time.

"It's all good, AB." He lied, "Just never like the thought of going to Snape's study!"

"Who does?! But you can enjoy tonight; he's dining late with the Delingpoles. And talking of dining, you're late for supper. So am I," AB dropped to a whisper, "but I'm heading off out with Cecily. Foursome at _The Three Broomsticks_ with Sophie and her new chap! Don't tell a soul!"

A very daring move on the part of AB. Harry couldn't help commenting on it.

"Sneaking out of Hogwarts at night? Blimey! I'll probably bump into you and Sophie in Snape's study tomorrow then!"

"I don't think so. I've been to dinner at the Delingpoles, rather a grand affair. I doubt they'll touch the cheeses before eleven thirty. We're safe tonight."

Always lovely to chat with AB, but Harry was eager to be alone. Point of fact, he was desperate to be alone; he'd mentioned two words that were tugging at him.

"See you later." He said quietly.

"Cheerio!"

He watched AB go off in search of Cecily, and wondered where he was going to go when behind him he heard the grinding of stone. He expected her, but he really didn't want to see her. Not now. Not before he could sort himself out and give her the excited response she deserved. He decided to duck into an alcove until she passed, but the staccato click of heels came straight to him.

McGonagall placed two cool hands around his face, and spoke.

"Don't be embarrassed about how you feel, Harry. You are a Gryffindor through and through! And I'm done with all this house turmoil; the tower password is _In Arduis Fidelis_. Very fitting for you, no?"

It might have been, but Harry wasn't much cop at Latin. She turned, and he heard short, fast steps grow quiet.

**oOo**

He backed further into the alcove, and his backside found a ledge it could perch on. The two words that had nearly made him cry like a baby returned to him: Snape's study. He'd told AB that he'd been summoned there tomorrow, but in all reality, he'd most likely never go in there again. Admittedly, that brought one great benefit, but the place held a lot more for him besides blistering assaults of the slipper.

It was the place where the most unlikely bastard in Hogwarts became the first adult to acknowledge his dismal life back in Surrey. He'd sent Harry off to Hogsmeade with AB to get decent clothes and new glasses, _and_ managed to avoid being in any way nice about it. That took a lot of doing, but The Git had been up to the challenge. It was also the only place Harry had cried in front of an adult. As cringe-inducing as the memory was, it meant something. And Snape had spoken to him, _really_ spoken to him. The Git didn't sugar-coat anything, and Harry liked that. He knew how Snape felt about houses; they were rubbish. And points, too. Though Harry did wish he'd been able to tell Snape that without the points system, he'd miss out on an awful lot of pleasure taking them from Gryffindor. Probably never get the chance now.

Harry had begun to believe that Snape saw some sort of purpose for him being there. He felt like he'd really got to know Snape. But more than that, he thought Snape had got to know him, the real Harry, and not just some annoying Gryffindor upstart that was always ready with a smart alec comment. He didn't need to read that note again to realise that he hadn't. Malfoy had been right; he barely knew Snape. Harry remembered something Pucey had said to him the day he'd skived off lessons by the greenhouses; 'Oh, the games that lonely children play!' Pucey had said. It had been gobbledygook to Harry at the time, but now he understood Pucey's words. He'd tricked himself with his own mind game; read far too much into this whole house-swap thing, and he had no one to blame for that but himself. Time to see things as they really were.

** oOo**

Which idiot said self-reflection was a good thing? It was grim! He could see the past six months as clear as day now, and it wasn't pretty. He'd pissed off everyone when he'd blasted the points jar; that's why he'd been moved. Pure and simple. Snape had just been following Dumbledore's orders, same as McGonagall would've done had the Platinum Ponce been put in Gryffindor. Oh, buggering hell! Harry put his head in his hands, and gave a long groan. He felt like the biggest idiot on the planet. Well, what do you do when you feel that bad? That's right: you run away from it. Harry knew what he was going to do, and it didn't involve any Snakes or Lions.


	5. The Lone Wolf

**A/N: **Hello, and huge thanks to hamlet, guests and CeVanne. I love getting your supportive comments; they help spur me on a great deal.

**The Lone Wolf**

**Seventh floor, Hogwarts**

See? All he needed was a bit of time on his lonesome. Only twenty minutes since McGonagall left, and he was feeling heaps better. Time alone, that was the key. Get away from everyone, especially professors, and rediscover his ability to go it alone. It was something that had once been Harry's speciality: both the 'being alone in a crowded room' variety, and the 'everyone has left me' sort. Getting that skill back would do him good; you couldn't trust other people anyway. That had been definitively proven to him in the last six months. Yes, he would become a lone wolf, dependent on no one.

He'd eschewed the main staircase in favour of the little-used southern stairs when he heard voices, and immediately darted into an adjoining corridor. Why the mania not to be seen? He didn't know, but it was fun. His dad's cloak! Bugger. Snape still had it; no way was he sneaking into his study to get it. Sinistra and Grubbly-Plank stopped three stairs from the third-floor landing and started gossiping. Harry fell back against the wall of the corridor and slid down to the ground; he'd have to remember that this was the quickest way to Sinistra's rooms. Maybe he'd use the eastern stairs from now on? There'd be no problem if he had his cloak. And why didn't he? You can't give someone the elbow and then keep their stuff. Right. As soon as he came out of his self-imposed exile, he was going to make a complaint of theft against Snape. To Dumbledore. _No_! To the Ministry! After a brief fantasy involving aurors, some muggle handcuffs and Snape being led down the castle steps like a common thief, Harry remembered the two women outside the corridor. Moving away now, they were still nattering,

"I'll get my cherry brandy. I know she likes a nip when she's upset."

"Poor thing." Said Grubbly-Plank, "She only had half a cup of tea at supper."

Bound to be Trelawney. Trelawney was up there with him in the melodrama stakes; maybe Harry should just move in with her? They both regularly made fools of themselves; were both held in low regard; both lurched from one crisis to the next. Oh, and they both wore glasses. Perfect match! Come to think of it, he'd quite like to be dosed with cherry brandy every time he had a crap day, too. He'd add it to his list of things for future consideration.

For immediate consideration was where to go. Stay inside the castle, disappear into the grounds, or venture beyond Hogwarts? The thrill of freedom and naughtiness pulsed within his body at that last thought, but first things first. He went down the southern stairs to the entrance hall. Straight ahead of him, on the opposite side of the wooden doors, the Snakes were still eating in the Great Hall. That made the first step of his plan easy. He called Dobby, and requested he pack all Harry's belongings into his trunk. No way was he taking the chance of being watched and sneered at by Malfoy as he packed his things and left.

"Dobby's delighted to, Master Harry. Does Professor Dumbledore know?"

Harry assumed he did.

"Yeah. He wants me to do it."

"Back to Gryffindor with it?!"

Dobby couldn't hide his glee at the thought of Harry returning there.

"Actually, could … could you keep it a little while, Dobby?"

He wasn't happy, but he couldn't refuse Harry anything.

**oOo**

**Hogwarts' entrance hall**

He could hear Philip Aitcheson on the other side of the hall doors. _Shit_! Did he have enough time to run off somewhere? He didn't need to, he realised. The spot under the south stairs where he, Hermione and Malfoy had had their 'Archie HQ' was right next to him. One of the great doors opened, and the smell of Cumberland sausage wafted out. Harry breathed it in, and realised how ravenous he was. Hadn't thought about food before; he'd been too anxious to get Dobby's help in packing his things and spiriting away his trunk.

"What's the plan, Pucey?" Philip asked.

"Arithmancy quiz, then an early night all round!" Butted in Latimer.

That's right. With AB and Sophie out on their illicit dinner date, the prefect reserves stepped to the fore - Adrian Pucey and Nigel Latimer. Neither was renowned as a stickler for Snape's rules. The evening would be chaotic, and something was bound to go wrong - but it'd be brilliant bloody fun at the same time.

"No really, what's it to be?" Asked Philip.

"Let me see … I was thinking … um … maybe Sardines?"

Pucey's suggestion went down a storm, Harry noted. He had no idea what Sardines was, but part of him wished he could find out. Why couldn't he join them, and slip off at the end of the game? Snape hadn't actually written down a time that he had to leave by - and neither had McGonagall requested him up in Gryffindor at a specified hour. One last hurrah? For old time's sake?

"You're sure Snape's back late? We're not going to get in trouble, are we?"

That was Malfoy asking. What a wimp. No, he couldn't go down there. Not with Malfoy around.

"For the seventh time, _yes he is_, and _no we're_ _not_!"

That was Millicent answering. Harry realised he'd already bid goodbye to her and Slytherin House.

**oOo**

**Under the south stairs, Hogwarts entrance hall**

"_Gotcha_!"

Hermione clapped down her hands on Harry's shoulders - still didn't stop him jumping with fright and nutting himself on the stairs, though.

"Oh no, Harry! Are you alright?"

He was. A bit sore, but basically okay. What was she doing there, Harry wanted to know. She told him. Turns out she'd had a rotten Easter Sunday, too. He knew the girls in her dorm had a tradition of giving little baskets of chocolate to one another; apparently it got quite competitive between Lavender and Parvati as to who could bedeck their small baskets with the most ribbons, bows and baby chicks. Hermione knew she couldn't compete, and had gifted them all a dental hygiene kit in a basket, complete with brush, paste, tongue scraper, floss and plaque-identifying tablets.

"I think it was the word 'hygiene' that offended Parvati. She told everyone I thought they had stinky breath. But honestly Harry, they've no idea how chocolate can cling to the back molars! Sometimes I think they just go looking for reasons to exclude me."

Such a plaintive thing to say! Harry didn't have the heart to tell her that Lavender and Parvati didn't have to go looking very far.

"To take offence is to acknowledge you deserved it." He said.

"Gosh, that's clever."

"It's what Snape says if anyone moans when he's whacked them."

He quickly got off the topic of Snape, wanting to keep his fate secret for now. Hang on! Keep his fate secret? Why didn't Hermione know? McGonagall had obviously told them nothing. Harry was pleased about that. Even if he hadn't been planning a short break from Hogwarts, he'd still rather slip quietly back into the tower. He loathed a fuss; McGonagall knew that. But all the same … perhaps there could have been some sort of low key welcome back. This welcome back was so low key it was non-existent.

Hermione asked what he was doing there all on his own. He told her about Theo going to live with the Delingpoles because his only other living relative was horrible. Hermione didn't need more. She'd pieced together, or thought she had, the source of his upset. That was something he'd learned in Slytherin. Never tell an outright lie; always include a skerrick of truth. They were both hungry, so Harry begged another favour of Dobby. Before long, the pair were standing outside Harry's secret hideaway on the second floor. They pulled back the shabby tapestry and found that night's supper of Cumberland sausage, sautéed potato and green beans set out on a little table in front of the old sofa. And as Harry Potter was the moon and the stars to Dobby, there was also a magically re-filling flask of pumpkin juice, a plate of his favourite crab and cucumber sandwiches - crusts removed, and a steaming jug of custard to accompany the large treacle tart. Both dug in with gusto, and then flopped back on the sofa.

"Hermione?"

"Yes?"

"Shall we stay here - all night? We can sleep on the sofa."

She looked horror-stricken.

"Oh God! No funny business! I didn't mean that!" Garbled Harry.

"I didn't think for a second you did." She replied sensibly, "But we can't stay up here; it's against the rules to be outside your dorm after curfew, and we only break the rules when we need to. You _know_ that."

"Yeah, I do. It's great here though, isn't it?"

"It is. And thanks for organising the food; it's like being in a private dining room of a fancy restaurant."

That prompted Harry to tell her about AB and Sophie's plans. She laughed and then wondered how they were going to get away with it.

"Won't Snape have a fit?" She asked.

"He's away at the Delingpoles until late. They should be okay."

Hermione passed on the treacle tart, so Harry ate it. They chatted a bit, but mostly they enjoyed that luxury of being able to be with someone free of the tyranny of constant talk. At nine, Harry reminded her of the time. A whole hour to the 10 o'clock curfew, but he knew she wasn't a fan of late nights and generally liked to read before bed. She looked a little unimpressed with such a sensible suggestion, most unlike Hermione Granger.

"What's up?" Asked Harry.

"I'm not really looking forward to going back. Can you imagine what Lavender and Parvati are going to be like in the bathroom?"

Yeah, Harry could just imagine all the pointed comments about teeth brushing, the pair of them ostentatiously checking each other's breath for signs of halitosis. Fay Dunbar joining in if she was feeling particularly weak-willed. And on and on it would go.

"Wanna stay here?"

"I do, but we can't. Just tell me something to cheer me up."

"Like what?"

"Give me the latest news from Slytherin!"

Oh, bloody hell.

"Things haven't been that cheery lately …"

"Oh, I'm so sorry! Poor Theo! I didn't think!"

No. Neither did Harry. He was thinking about himself. Bloody hell! How self-absorbed was he getting? Then he thought of something she might like. It had been his intention to keep mum - what goes on in Slytherin, stays in Slytherin and all that. Yeah well, fine sentiments but The Prat had it coming. Harry thought back to the afternoon they were getting ready for the Yule Ball. Malfoy had returned to the castle more obnoxious than ever. Vince had rolled his eyes, and beckoned Harry over to the chess set. Fortunately, he didn't give Harry an in-depth analysis of 'the Queen's Gambit', or 'the King's Indian Defence'. No. He dished a bit of dirt on Malfoy.

"Do you know what happened one time Malfoy was such a cocky little bastard?" Vince had asked.

Harry hadn't, but he'd enjoyed finding out. Time to share that with Hermione.

"Remember in second year? When he called you the 'M' word?"

"Mudblood? Do you mean when he called me Mudblood?"

Excuse me? Was it now something to be said so blithely?

"Yeah, that word. Well, he …"

"He got slippered, didn't he?! Oh! Poor Draco!"

How did she know? She was spoiling his anecdote here. And since when was Malfoy 'Draco'? Disgruntlement must have shown on his face.

"Sorry. Go on. I haven't got a clue what happened."

An obvious lie, but Harry wasn't going to stop tattling on The Platinum Pillock.

"Well Snape heard about it from Hagrid see …"

"Go, Hagrid!"

Hermione did a little fist pump. And then ducked her head in shame.

"I'm being mean. Sorry. I shouldn't be mean about Draco."

He wished she'd stop calling him that. And why was she so bothered by the anti-Malfoy talk? Oh, that's right. The last time they'd all been together was after the Ministry inspection - when Malfoy was impersonating a decent, fully-formed human being. He couldn't disabuse her of that notion without spilling he'd been kicked out of Slytherin. Nope. Wasn't doing that just yet.

"Apparently Snape had the Snakes doing an assault course in the castle grounds, or something mental like that. Anyway, they were all just about collapsing on the front steps when Hagrid walks past and whispers something to Snape. Next thing they know, Snape's roaring at them to get down to the dungeons double quick time, and line up on the steps …"

"Line up on the steps?"

"It's a Slytherin thing. Anyway, Malfoy gets called to the front and cops it big time from Snape right in front of everyone!"

"He was awful then, wasn't he?"

_Was_?! Harry had to bite his tongue. Hermione giggled.

"I wish I'd seen it!" Then she gasped, "Gosh! Is it really mean of me to say that?"

"No way! But funny you should say that; Snape told him that if he ever said it to you again, he'd take him up to Gryffindor common room and slipper him right there in front of everyone!"

"_Poor_ Draco!"

Harry didn't mind her saying it that time - because she was also convulsing with laughter at the prospect.

"How many times did Snape smack him? _Oh no_! That's an awful question; I'm being _so_ nasty! Please don't answer me!"

No chance, Hermione. Harry was loving this. As a matter of fact, Crabbe hadn't told him - so he indulged in a bit of wish-fulfilment.

"Two dozen whacks!"

"_Really_?! Did he cry?! _No_! No! Don't answer that! I have to stop; I'm being horrible!"

Harry acceded to her wishes - for two seconds.

"He blubbered and howled! So Crabbe says."

So Malfoy was good for something, then. Hermione was smiling at last.

**oOo**

**Outside Gryffindor common room**

Harry could walk right on in. This was his home again; he'd been given the password by McGonagall. For a brief moment he toyed with the idea of stopping all his lone wolf palaver. He could beat Hermione to the portrait, say the password, and surprise her that he was back. She'd be bloody ecstatic! But the moment stopped when he heard Cormac McLaggen coming up behind.

"Shouldn't you be down with the low life, Potter?"

Hermione gave him a scowl.

"The dungeons are very low down in the castle; what else did you think I meant?!"

His cronies all laughed along with him.

"Good one!"

It was Ron. He gave a little shamed grimace when he saw Harry look at him, and then walked over. The three sat down on the window seat opposite the Fat Lady.

"You're up here with us." Ron commented.

"Yeah." Harry shrugged, half apologetically.

"Good Easter?"

"Alright. You?"

"Fine. Be back in a mo'."

Harry supposed that a 'mo' wasn't a standardized unit of time, so when Ron said it maybe he really did mean twenty minutes? Anyway, sitting with Hermione was a gentle re-easing of himself into Gryffindor life. More and more people came back to the tower, and the Fat Lady had enough of swinging back and forth.

"Just prop me open, dearies. I shall get quite dizzy otherwise."

It gave Harry a partial view of the common room. There was no denying the room had warmth and comfort in spades. Antique rugs smothered the stone floors with piles of crimson and berry-hued cushions littered upon them. He remembered his first night here, itching to sink into the claret velvet. The room's height had captivated the small boy used only to the mean proportions of the Surrey 'executive estate' - and the even meaner proportions of his own sleeping quarters.

It was smaller than the dungeons, and much more colourful; so why wasn't he drawn to its cosiness? He had been when he'd first arrived at Hogwarts. He remembered and closed his eyes, trying to conjure up that feeling of reassurance and security. There was a semblance emanating from his left as Hermione recounted how her parents celebrated Easter, but the full feeling just wasn't coming; it was like trying to replicate the perfect cup of tea. Tea that was not only flawlessly brewed, but happened to coincide with the exact moment your thirst needed slaking. The second cup never worked; it was always a disappointment. That was how Harry felt at that moment, but as he stared into the room, for the life of him he couldn't think why.

Still chatting to Hermione, he stood and wandered over to the doorway. A giggle erupted from the girls' stairwell, and he saw three first-years playfully shove each other and run up. He didn't know their names, but he'd seen them before. Some second-years boys were at the chess set trying to figure out how the King was allowed to move. Ron was close by, and Harry saw him look at Dean and roll his eyes. Next, the second-years were ordered away by a group of fifth-years, and that's when it hit him. Gryffindor common room had comfort in abundance - far more than its dungeon equivalent; the difference was the way it was used. Discrete year groups and cliques peopled the space. Ron hadn't thought for a second of explaining the King's moves. If Vincent Crabbe had been there, he'd have summoned a flip chart, and laboriously gone through each permutation of the moves. Dull as shit, almost certainly, and Harry didn't doubt for a moment that Ron was the superior player. Yet there was also something lovely about Crabbe's chess evangelism that encompassed all the years.

He saw Cormac McLaggen seated loftily in a winged back chair; Harry supposed his Slytherin counterpart was Bletchley. But even Bletchley generally had some lower years in tow; unless he'd recently caught it from Snape, in which case, everyone kept clear. He remembered the Snakes' excited chatter after they left the Great Hall.

"What's 'Sardines'?" He called over to Hermione.

"A bloody fish, innit?!" Replied Ron, who despite appearances, had obviously been keeping a close ear on his two friends.

Harry felt a surge of annoyance at the eavesdropping - considering Ron didn't actually want to sit outside and talk to him. But he forced out a feeble laugh and jolly reply.

"Ha! Ha! I know that! No, I think it must be some sort of game."

An almighty groan came from the winged back chair.

"It _is_ a game, and it's _the_ dullest game." Pronounced McLaggen, "Alright for under-fives, but anyone older with an ounce of self-respect wouldn't be caught dead playing it."

So, that was that. Harry was still none the wiser, but he had learned that the cool kids were above Sardines. He began scraping out some grime from under his fingernails - then remembered he no longer had morning inspection with the wizarding world's biggest anal-retentive, and stopped. He wandered back to Hermione.

"You choose a person to be the Sardine, then they go off and hide." She told him.

"It's like Hide and Seek then?"

"Sort of … but in reverse, and a little bit trickier. You see, everyone looks for the Sardine individually, and when they find him or her, they ask if they're the Sardine. If they are, they join them in the hiding spot. It keeps on going until everyone except the last searcher is crammed into the same spot, so choosing the spot is a bit of an art form; it needs to be somewhere that will actually hide you, but big enough so all the players bar one can join you. Last searcher is the next Sardine." She explained.

Harry couldn't help it; he looked wistfully away and fantasized about finding Sardine Tracey in a cupboard somewhere - and having all the others push him up against her. Now, he'd never know that bliss …

"Hang on." Said Hermione, 'You said Snape was away until late. That's what they're all doing down there, isn't it? Why didn't you join them?"

"Wasn't in the mood." He fibbed.

"No. You haven't been, have you? Are you sure everything's okay?"

"I'm sure. Decent kip tonight and I'll be as good as new."

He watched her walk to the doorway, and kept watching as her head tilted to the side and gave three little shakes. The Granger headshake. She was thinking …

"Harry?"

"Yeah?"

"Whatever's happened between you and Draco … sort it out."

**oOo**

Harry made use of the first floor lavatories, and slunk back to his hidden alcove. He awoke to deadening silence, no snoring or other movements of bodily air. Did he miss it? _No_! He wasn't that bloody homesick for Slytherin! Out of his alcove and padding to the window at the end of the corridor, he reckoned it had to be around five in the morning. A veteran night-roamer like Harry Potter had no need of clocks, or watches; the palette of the night sky was all he needed to know the time.

It was late April. The sun wouldn't be up for more than an hour, and that gave him a buzz; it was the best time for his favourite Hogwarts' activity, breaking curfew and being out and about on the castle ramparts for the sunrise. Another thought came to him: Ron's omnioculars. Well, they weren't Ron's, they were his. He'd paid for them. He let himself into Gryffindor, and sneaked up to the dorm. Bloody hell! What was Seamus doing in his bed?! Outrage redoubled his determination to get the omnioculars. He was also tempted to grab a pair of thick Molly Weasley-engineered socks, but he wouldn't steal. The omnioculars weren't stealing, by the way; they were technically his. Stringing them round his neck, he made for the ramparts.

**oOo**

Should've taken Ron's socks; his feet were fucking freezing. But sitting down in one of the crennellations to take in the view took his mind off them. Many favoured the crepuscular rays of dusk, and indeed it had a lot going for it. But Harry had always loved daybreak. His nights were often beset with sleeplessness, and increasingly of late, stabs of pain from his scar. They were lonely, frightening affairs. Daybreak brought a close to that. It meant company. Company stopped you thinking too much, and that was a blessed relief no matter the company. Then he remembered his plan to become the Lone Wolf of Hogwarts; the person that relied on his own mettle and no one else. Yeah well, that was something he was going to have to work on.

His company that morning, however, was such that no one could complain. Lifting up the omnioculars, he scanned the hills and vales and was rewarded with the sight of two crossbills in a fir tree, pecking out the seeds from cones. Other fauna edged into view; what a way to start the day! A purple and orange beribboned sky, and listening to the calls of a mother grouse to her hatchlings. Sod his cold feet; this was worth it. A dotterel began calling to its mate, and Harry scanned the horizon to find her. Then another cry pierced the morning's calm. Harry sat up straighter and directed the omnioculars nearer the castle; it was the cry of the Lesser Spotted Pouting Parkinson. He twiddled the rewind dial on the front of the glass, and watched as she tripped on a tree root, only to be picked up and dusted off rather vigorously by Millicent. What were they doing? Were they looking for him?! He felt some alarm at that prospect, alarm mingled with something else - a surge of undeniable joy that he might be missed.

Hunkering forward, he roamed around his line of vision, and saw a puffing Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle, plumes of condensed icy air coming from their overheated mouths. Malfoy and Zabini were ahead of them, their lithe forms jogging capably. Further ahead was Tracey, just beginning a circuit of the quidditch arena. _Ha_! Early morning laps, that meant only one thing. They'd all been caught playing Sardines, most probably out of bounds _and_ after curfew. Was AB there too? Oh yes, there he was bringing up the rear with Alicia Mayhew. She looked happy enough, but he didn't. Harry wondered what Snape did to a head prefect who broke the rules. Well, he didn't wonder too hard; he had a fairly good idea.

Some thrushes joined him on his lonely perch, but he barely gave them a second glance. Though he didn't voice the words, even within the confines of his own head, Harry was consumed by wanting to be down there, preferably beating Malfoy in the three laps of the quidditch arena Snape had levied as punishment. He couldn't take his eyes off them: Arno and Harriett mucking around trying to trip each other up; Pansy and Daphne being a pair of drama queens; Millicent giving up and walking the second she was out of Snape's sight. She'd done that last time, too. "I'm built for comfort, not speed!" She'd grinned, patting her well-upholstered backside to prove her point.

And then it hit him; he was being more sad Labrador puppy than lone wolf. Wanting to be part of a gang that no longer wanted you; was there anything in life more pathetic? He should go inside; he was torturing himself watching this. Time to get back to his plan. But he couldn't stop. He watched lap after lap after lap, and then the worst moment came. Tory Greengrass suddenly put on a burst of speed on the homeward stretch, and launched herself at the waiting Snape. Snape dodged her, and swatted her indoors - all without losing his ever-so-faintly amused grin, nor a drop from his magically re-filling teacup. Harry inflicted more suffering on himself by turning the dial on the right lens and focussing in on Snape's snarky greetings to his panting Snakes. He couldn't hear what was said, but he could imagine the content and tone.

It was no use hanging around where he could see others; that was never going to turn him into a lone wolf. He wouldn't share this low ebb even with the thrushes. He stomped to the rooftop entrance, and, before going in, gave himself a firm ticking off. Stop being such a bloody idiot; who gets upset over not waking up next to Gregory Goyle and his habitual morning farting?! Come to that, what sort of masochist mourns the end to morning inspections, presided over by a foul-tempered tyrant? No, this was a good thing. He wasn't a Slytherin any longer. He might not feel like a Gryffindor either, but he'd get back there in time.


	6. The Most Pernicious Vice - Part 1

**A/N 1: **I know this is a bit too soon after the last posting, but I'm off on holiday soon and wanted to post the next couple of chapters before I go. Take your time and read at your own leisure (how gracious of me!)

**A/N 2: **What a lovely bunch of softies you all are - feeling sorry for Harry! (Well not you, hamlet!) **Spoiler alert!** Snape isn't so indulgent!

**A/N 3: **Many, many thanks to Guest, Guest, hamlet, and welcome back Fan. Your comments are such a treat.

**A/N 4:** I wonder if anyone can guess what the most pernicious vice is?

**The Most Pernicious Vice - Part 1**

**Fourth-year boys' dorm, Gryffindor Tower, 6:45 am**

Fast asleep, the lot of them. Harry was shocked to catch himself beginning to sneer. Bloody hell! Snape was infiltrating his brain. The Git linked a morning lie-in to 'moral turpitude' and a 'lack of gumption'. But it was the Easter hols; having a lie-in was good, it was normal. He should bloody well go back to his second-floor alcove and kip for another few hours. Only problem was, he didn't want to. That glorious sunrise! It had made its enticing peak through the violet clouds, and then decided not to bother after all. The sky was back to pale grey; they'd missed it all. He recalled his second week in Slytherin when Snape overheard him grumbling about the early starts, and fourteen inches of ebony had rapped his head.

"Lose an hour in the morning, Potter, and you'll spend all day looking for it."

How many of these sayings did Snape have? Answer: a lot.

"I lost it in bed;" Harry had muttered, "I'll try looking for it there."

Snape thought it an excellent solution, and sent Harry to seek the missing hour at 8:30 that night. Harry didn't grumble again.

Along with the ability to forget entirely about homework until an hour before it was due, not bothering with breakfast, and the joy of hurling his dirty socks anywhere but the laundry basket, Snape had trampled all over the simple pleasure of sleeping in late. Harry tut-tutted once more at the slug-a-beds, and noiselessly replaced the omnioculars. He then set off to clear his alcove of all signs of life. It would be just like Hermione to check if he'd slept there.

**oOo**

**Hogwarts' entrance hall, 7:20 am**

He was under the stairs again, determined to do a lightning raid on the breakfast table the second the Slytherins vacated the hall. He couldn't ask Dobby for breakfast; just couldn't face that pitiful ear-tugging Dobby did whenever he felt conflicted. But his grumbling stomach was overpowered by something else now. McGonagall had entered the Great Hall, leaving slightly ajar one of the doors. Harry saw her walk up the centre aisle, pause and scan the seated Snakes. She turned abruptly and scoured the sparse ranks of early risers from the other houses. Her arms flew up, and a black figure leapt off the dais to join her. Oh, bloody hell … I know what's going on … _No_! Don't panic; just keep watching.

She spoke urgently to Snape, then raced over to Nigel Wolpert. Harry hadn't seen him up at Gryffindor last night. Apparently, Nigel hadn't seen him either; the boy shook his head at whatever McGonagall was asking. Harry's eyes darted left, and saw Snape grilling the Snakes. They seemed animated - apart from Malfoy, who was sitting statue still. Did McGonagall know he hadn't slept in Gryffindor last night? Shit. What was he going to do now? He knew the penalty for missing curfew, but how much trouble did you get in if you didn't go to the dorm at all? He couldn't face the prospect of sitting in McGonagall's classroom writing lines, not since a much more enticing option had entered his brain. Go to Hogsmeade. Didn't make any real sense to go there, and he had sod all money on him, _but_ \- it got him away from an immediate bollocking. _And_ it was the kind of thing a lone wolf did - wander enigmatically around the town and not feel the need to explain himself.

Harry withdrew further under the southern staircase, awaiting his moment to leg it up to The One-Eyed Witch Passage on the third floor and direct to Hogsmeade. Bollocks! Would Honeydukes be open? If it were closed, would the normal exit door be barred? He didn't know. But why go to Hogsmeade? Unlike most of the students, Harry actually knew how to buy a bus ticket, how to read a train timetable and how to thumb a lift along the motorway. He could disappear into Muggledom for a few days. Oh … no muggle money … Damn. Well, hitchhiking was free. And there was that soup kitchen in the park near Privet Drive; the one Aunt Petunia was always campaigning to have closed - bound to be some up in Scotland, surely? He was getting excited at the thought of his adventure when he heard the rapid pinging of leather soles on stone steps.

Gauging that the owner of the leather soles was now on the second flight of stairs, Harry followed - slipping off his shoes before he did so. Of course it was Snape. Harry lurked on the stairs just before the second floor. Snape went straight to his alcove and thrust aside the dusty tapestry. How does Snape know about my alcove? Is nothing sacred? Harry felt indignant at that, and then relieved he'd emptied it of the night's detritus. With the relief he turned slightly sick. He always found it strange that people categorized relief as a positive emotion. In reality it was stressful; a person is always consumed with the question, 'what if?' What if he hadn't cleared out his belongings; what if he had gone back for a lie-in? No time for introspection, though. He ran down the stairs and back to his hiding spot. Not a moment too soon. Snape thundered overhead and went straight to the curtains near the entrance door, where Archie had hidden during the ministry inspection. He angrily tossed back the curtains and stalked to the Great Hall, slamming the door closed behind him.

Run, or wait? With the door closed, he had no idea what was happening on the other side and decided to let the Slytherins leave first. He slumped onto the stone bench, and thought about McGonagall. He hadn't seen her face, but she'd been worried; he could tell from her jerky body movements. She was probably up in Gryffindor now searching for him. He felt bad. Two seconds later and he felt angry that he felt bad. He'd been tossed between houses like an unwanted toy; why was _he_ feeling bad? And why did Snape have such a narky look on his face? Stuff him! None of his bloody business where Harry was now; he wasn't Harry's head of house. Unless … unless he was going to get in trouble for Harry going missing. _Woo hoo_! Even by Hogwarts' crap standards of duty of care to its students, surely Snape should have returned Harry to Gryffindor in person? Not bugger off to a swanky dinner at the Delingpoles. Snape had lost 'The Golden Boy'! And guess what? He was going to lose him for a few days longer!

Oh, this was great! Harry was going to have a few good days sightseeing in the Highlands, and Snape was going to get bollocked by Dumbledore and the Ministry! Would he get sacked? Harry knew he didn't want that. Then again, he was going to return to Hogwarts at some point, much better to return without Snape in attendance. He peeped around the stairs - still no movement from the Slytherins. Sad McGonagall and Snape teetering on the brink of professional disgrace … thoughts that Harry didn't want in his head. He pushed them out, and started thinking about himself instead - infinitely more rewarding.

People wanted him when he was useful, but the second he wasn't … Who else had to put up with the crap he had going on? Couldn't think of a single person. Harry was becoming prodigiously adept at churning out these thoughts. It was so effortless; they just flowed! Because it's _true_, Harry told himself. They all talked a fine talk, but it didn't stop his life turning to shit. Dumbledore and his 'learning experience'. _Pfft_! Thus far, Harry had learned he could be dumped into another house, eventually feel like he belonged - only to get booted out. McGonagall? The incessant hand-wringing and looks of concern. It made him sick! It meant _nothing_. She'd still marched him down to Slytherin last November, _and_ left him with Snape. Who leaves anyone with Snape?! The Snakes? Oh, great mates they were. _Not_. Hadn't they noticed he wasn't there? Why had none of them tried to find him? Hermione. He had Hermione, and most probably because she felt every bit the outsider as he did. Ron and the rest? Harry laughed - bitterly. Where was the welcome back? Dean Thomas was sleeping in his bed, FFS! That's how much Harry was missed. And The Git? Where to start with him? "You're a Slytherin now, Potter. You'll be treated just as they are." Yes, he had been … walloped, sent to bed early, made to do ludicrous amounts of homework, 'chores' - yeah … thanks a bloody lot, Snape. You just forgot one thing; the 'real' Snakes don't get kicked out of Slytherin.

The pity party could have continued all day - so delicious once you get started - but the Great Hall doors had opened and the Slytherins began filing out.

"Down to the dungeons, and line up!" Snarled Snape from inside the hall.

Had something else happened along with the game of Sardines last night? Snape sounded furious. But it was no longer Harry's problem. Good luck, fickle Snakes! Fare thee well with your bonkers housemaster! Harry popped his head around the side of the staircase. Millicent was staring ahead looking angry; the prefects looked chastened; Pansy looked sorry for herself; Malfoy looked like he was about to burst into tears; no one looked happy. Alicia Mayhew was fiddling nervously with something in her pocket and tripped on a shoelace. She took a tumble and whatever she was fiddling with flew out of her pocket and rolled towards Harry. She stood up quickly, scanned the floor for what she'd lost and stared right into Harry's face. Harry froze, thinking she was about to call out to him at any moment. But she didn't; her eyes simply widened in alarm. Next she started rubbing her chest exaggeratedly.

"What are you doing, child? I told you to get downstairs quickly!"

Snape prodded her forward.

"Sorry, sir. I've been with _STINKY OLD BOOKS_ . _MOULDY_ books. I think I need some _CHEST RUB_."

"Why on earth are you shouting?"

"Sorry, sir. I just don't want to _GO BACK TO WHERE THE STINKY BOOKS ARE_!"

"I don't know what your game is, Miss Mayhew, but, believe me, this entire house is in enough trouble without you antagonizing me further."

"Sorry, sir. I'll _GO RIGHT NOW_!"

Snape sprang forward, right hand poised to connect with Alicia, but she was quick - almost half-way down the dungeon stairs, in fact. Once Snape had followed her, Harry reached forward and picked up her little jar of chest rub.

**oOo**

**Madam Pince's stinky book store**

With the butterflies in his stomach, the misery in his heart and the doubts resurfacing in his mind, the fetid smell from Madam Pince's old book store was just about making Harry gag. He'd taken Alicia's none-too-subtle hint and gone straight there. Now he was wondering why. The longer he waited here, the more people would be around, and the more difficult it'd be to get out of Hogwarts. Where was she? He presumed she was going to turn up at some point.

**oOo**

**Thirty minutes later**

The door flew open and Alicia fell inside panting.

"There's been massive trouble!"

She stopped to pant some more.

"Professor McGonagall's been down in the dungeons. Crying. She thought we couldn't see her, but her nose was bright red, and she had a load of hankies shoved up her sleeve."

More panting.

"She thinks you've run away!"

Harry saw the incredulous look on Alicia's face, and realised she wanted a response.

"Run away?! I wouldn't do that! No way!"

The chubby first-year reached out and grabbed Harry's hand.

"I don't want you to leave. Stay." She implored.

"I can't."

"Is it Snape? Has he made you go?"

Snape? McGonagall? Dumbledore? Harry didn't know who'd been the final arbiter in getting him kicked out of Slytherin House, but Snape would do.

"Yeah."

Alicia drooped, and then gasped as she remembered something.

"You've got to hide for a bit; Snape's madder than I've ever seen him! He caned Malfoy!"

"_What_?!"

"He did. And … and … from the way he was talking I think you might be next."

"Alicia? _Alicia_!"

The sound of small, light feet came up the corridor. A second later and Tory Greengrass and Elsa Tobin burst into the room.

"Come _on_, Alicia! We have to find Ha … _Oh_! You've found him!"

"Ssssh! You can't tell anyone!" Warned Alicia.

"But we'll all get …" Started Tory.

"No." Said timid Elsa, for once sounding resolute. "Alicia's right."

Snape had sent them all off in small groups. Find Potter. If they went back empty-handed, they were all getting a taste of what Malfoy got. They were the only details he could get before the three first-years went off and pretended to look for him. He wanted more, primarily: how many strokes had Malfoy got, and how hard had they been? But he also wanted to stay hidden from Snape, so he kept his questions to himself and bundled Alicia and chums out of the smelly book room.

It so happened that on the desk of Uncle Vernon's study was one of those 'executive' toys, a suspended row of ball bearings. You pulled one and let it fall, and they all kept knocking against each other for a very long time. Harry, not being subject to the stresses and cares of middle management like Uncle Vernon, was never allowed to touch it. Not to worry, now he had his very own executive toy, only it was inside his head. One thought banged against another and set off a chain reaction. The cane: was he really going to get it? Snape couldn't; he wasn't his head of house anymore. Would Snape care about that? If he was in serious trouble over losing him, he wouldn't care and he'd really let Harry have it. Had Malfoy cried? Would _he_ cry? He had Alicia's chest rub; should he use it? He should have gone straight to Gryffindor Tower when he got Snape's note. How had he ended up in this position? How long could he hide? Would the girls keep quiet about him? What had Malfoy done to make Snape cane him? Was Snape really going to cane his entire house? Why? How long should he stay in the smelly book room? Would Alicia come back and give him the all-clear?

**oOo**

**Library corridor**

As Snape turned the corner, his eyes fell on Alicia, Elsa and Tory. They were here when he walked past ten minutes ago. What on earth could they search in a corridor containing only a sofa, three pedestals and a suit of armour? He smelled a rat. Alicia Mayhew had been acting bizarrely ever since he ordered them to the common room after breakfast. Now she was engaged in a shoving match with Astoria Greengrass. But Snape had no time for first-year squabbles.

"Have any of you seen signs of Mister Potter?"

Alicia leapt away from Tory and pretended to be searching for Harry so avidly she'd not heard her housemaster.

"_Well_? Have you?"

She, Tory and Elsa panicked at the sharp tone and began searching the sofa. Snape watched them picking up scatter cushions and peering into the space behind them.

"Unless Mister Potter has shrunk himself to four inches tall, I'm sure that even he is not _that_ good at hiding."

They dropped the cushions and shuffled over as one to search behind an antique vase on a pedestal.

"Neither has missing one breakfast caused him to lose so much weight he can hide behind that."

When Elsa Tobin pushed up the visor of the knight's suit of armour and peered into it for signs of Harry, Snape lost what tenuous hold he had on his temper.

"Stop this nonsense! Turn around this instant and answer my question!"

Alicia saw the uncertainty in her companions' eyes.

"Do it!" She hissed.

Elsa and Tory nervously turned in the opposite direction to Snape, while Alicia Mayhew gifted her housemaster a thunderous glare before pivoting showily on her heel to join them. The shunned man tilted his head in enquiry; what in Merlin's name was happening? Quite obviously a protest was being lodged, but he had no clue what was being protested, nor did he have the time to discover it.

"Turn around _at once_, and tell me if you've seen Potter."

Glancing sideways, Alicia saw Elsa and Tory crumble; their fingers lifting to indicate the room three doors down from the library. She rolled her eyes at their lack of steadfastness and stayed resolute. Snape set off after Potter, thought a moment, and retraced his steps. Taking hold of her arm, he landed a firm whack to her bottom, and looked to her two companions.

"Misses Tobin and Greengrass? Licorus Black's portrait frame needs a wax and polish. See to it immediately."

It was the most hated chore that Snape handed out; Licorus sniped and carped throughout the whole process. Alicia patted her empty pocket glumly, and wondered where she could get her mits on some chest rub fast.

"And _you_," She awaited the summons to his study, "are far too stubborn for your own good. I hope Potter values your loyalty. Go and tell the others to get back to the common room."

Alicia sighed at Potter's fate, then shrugged; he'd get through it. She turned and smirked at her friends.

"Licorus Black … _ha_!"

**oOo**

**Madam Pince's stinky book store**

"Your ingratitude really is quite staggering."

As it happens, Harry was feeling embarrassed by all the commotion he'd caused. When Alicia told him that they were all looking for him, he'd wanted the ground to swallow him whole. The mention of his 'ingratitude' brought a screeching halt to that.

"Ingratitude?! What have I got to be grateful for?! I make one mistake, and get shoved down here. I lose nearly all my friends back in Gryffindor, finally make friends here. _Some_ friends - other people are still _complete_ arsey twats. As soon as that happens, it's 'Okay, Potter. Sod off back to Gryffindor; we don't want you any more' - in _a note_. A note! You couldn't even be bothered to tell me to my face! Yeah well, I _am_ ungrateful; I'd have to be a nutter to be grateful. And what are you gonna do about it?!"

Snape stood stock still and disbelieving. Then a flick of his hair, like an old crank handle to a car engine, started him moving again. Quick, smooth steps had him gliding to within three inches of Harry.

"You've spent two terms with me, Mister Potter. Surely you _know_ what I do about Slytherins who speak to me in that manner?"

It was true Harry was furious: it was also true that Snape's words were delivered in a manner as soft and beguiling as chiffon fluttering across a cheek, and that was what made Harry baulk. The man was at his most intimidating when he leapt close to murmur sotto voce. Harry's angry momentum was lost, but not entirely.

"Yeah well, doesn't apply to me any more; does it?"

Snape pulled back a few inches, narrowed his eyes, and thinned his lips into a perfect crinkle of disdain.

"I see you had the decency to read my note …"

"Yeah." Said Harry, Snape's distance allowing some belligerence to creep back into his voice, "Thanks for that. Thanks a bloody lot."

"Yet not sufficient decency to …"

The hooked nose, followed by the rest of Snape, lunged back at Harry.

"… Turn. The. Note. _Over_!"

Harry stood and blinked - at a rough estimate about twenty-six times.

"Turn the …?"

Snape nodded slowly.

"Oh." Said Harry.

"Oh." Repeated Snape. "Do you still have it?"

Harry nodded.

"Then perhaps you'd care to read it now?"

He pulled it from his back pocket, a bit scrunched but perfectly legible.

_**Alas, Professor McGonagall is set for bitter heartache**_

_**whereas I can look forward to the untrammelled joy of**_

_**having you in Slytherin for yet another term. Heed me**_

_**well, Potter, there had best be NO shenanigans,**_

_**nor any of your cheek.**_

Bollocks! I'm a fucking idiot. Thoughts bombarded the hapless boy. The Snakes hadn't ignored his leaving because his leaving had only been in his head. McGonagall hadn't been low key about his return; she'd been upset because he wasn't returning. Alicia hadn't been upset he was leaving Slytherin because he never had been. She'd rightly surmised Harry was thinking of bolting from Hogwarts.

A corner of black Russell Cord gown flicked his knuckle, and Harry looked up to see Snape already striding out of the room.

"Follow me, Mister Potter."


	7. The Most Pernicious Vice - Part 2

**A/N 1: **As ever, thanks to those non-members who commented. **Hamlet** \- 'Wrath' was a superb idea! (Didn't go with that, though 'Betrayal' gets a mention) Question: why don't you write? I'd love to read something by you. Oh! And stop being so hard on Harry! (We need him for the plot, remember!) Thanks **Lizzy** and **Guests**! **Fan** \- I'm glad you agree on relief and 'what if'. And **Buchling**? It makes me a bit sad that you read so much, and only comment to find fault. Oh, well... you do raise a point that interests me: characters and human frailty. Why shouldn't Snape be unprofessional? Why wouldn't he be lacking in some regard? He came from a death cult and was lumbered with all this at 21! Fallibility and frailty are what makes humans so fascinating, don't you think? (And I'm afraid to read my twaddle is to run the risk of plot holes!)

**A/N 2: **You'll have no doubt noted that there's been a HUGE amount of angst knocking about. Not my favourite, actually, but it's been leading up to something - and that something is completely AU. Just warning you. Tune out now if that's not your thing.

**A/N 3: **Assuming I can find my passport, I'm off for a few weeks. Will post when I get for reading, and I hope you enjoy this.

**The Most Pernicious Vice - Part 2**

**Slytherin common room, 7: 30 am**

Alicia Mayhew's short legs worked furiously to overtake Lucian Bole and Tracey Davis, and claim her spot on the steps. She needed all the time she could get to settle and school her features into a mien of honest perplexity. What the hell was Potter doing? Would he go to the stinky book room? Had Malfoy been telling the truth? He must have been; AB had confirmed it.

Snape whooshed past the steps and straight into his study. The door slammed shut and everyone began nudging each other. The prevailing sentiment was almost universal: if something seems too good to be true, it most probably is. Last night had been such a hoot. Pucey, Latimer and Urquhart had planned the game of Sardines to perfection, even remembering to lure Licorus out of his frame by claiming to have overheard the East Tower portraits rubbishing the Black lineage. Getting back after curfew hadn't been a problem. And no one had to worry about prissy AB and Sophie handing out notes and a telling-off because they, miracle of miracles, had flouted the rules themselves. Of course, they'd have had a better time had Potter been there; not just because he was a firm friend, but because he had a hell of a nose for hiding spots. Still, Malfoy told them he was off to visit Granger and Weasley, and they wouldn't begrudge him a night away, though they found it hard to believe he'd have a better time there than he would with them.

And then things started to go wrong, but not disastrously so. Grim-faced prefects had woken them up at 5:30. Snape wanted them all in the common room. It soon became obvious why. Licorus Black had returned to his frame at midnight in effervescent mood. Not only had he managed to insult masterfully every shocked and dumbfounded portrait in the East Tower, he'd also seen several Snakes running around after curfew _and_ caught sight of a couple of prefects snogging in the entrance hall - his cup ranneth over. Even before Snape had rounded the corner into the Slytherin corridor an hour later, Licorus' titters and mean-spirited chuckles informed him his Snakes had been up to no good. And yet Snape had stood in the common room almost smiling. He spotted Potter was absent, and sent an alarmed look Armitage Brown's way. The Head Prefect was jittery and mumbled something about Gryffindor, and Snape relaxed.

"Ah yes, she mentioned that. Well now, my little nest of vipers! It appears Professor McGonagall came to Potter's rescue last night; he didn't have the opportunity to break curfew and be out of bounds - unlike _you_. Five laps of the quidditch stadium. Out! _Out_! Last one back gets a thrashing!"

He always said that; it never happened. This was the punishment he gave when he really didn't want to punish; his Snakes knew. But now? Oh, no. This didn't feel at all like Snape was in an indulgent mood. It was, as Millicent was later to reflect in the common room, another of those car crash moments. Just like when her Muggle mother had ploughed her Audi estate into a turning Ford Fiesta, Snape's interrogation took but a few minutes, yet felt like aeons. His office door opened and Professor McGonagall made to rush out into the common room, only to be gently pulled back by Snape. But they'd seen her: splotchy face, red nose and sniffing. What the hell had happened? Was Potter dead?! They heard their housemaster, "Leave it with me, Minerva. I'll get it out of them." And less than a minute later, out he came.

He didn't look at any of them as he made his way to the centre of the room. He kept his gaze firmly on the cane he was holding, pausing occasionally to run his fingers from crook handle to tip, then seize the tip and bend it back towards the handle. The manoeuvre proved remarkably effective in maintaining silence; some folk appeared to have stopped blinking or breathing entirely.

"It would seem we have quite a conundrum … do I like conundrums, Miss Blishwick?"

"I don't think you do, sir."

A swish of the cane, and Sophie found its tip pointed an inch from her nose.

"Wrong, Miss Blishwick! I adore conundrums, and why is that Mister Armitage-Brown?"

"Sorry sir, I've no idea."

"Not to worry, I shall explain it to you. Indeed, I rather think I shall be explaining a lot to all of the prefects. Is that not so, Misters Pucey and Latimer?"

"I think you might well be, sir." Said a glum Adrian Pucey.

"I adore conundrums because I'm supremely good at figuring them out …"

It wasn't the arrogance of the man that had the Snakes standing there bug-eyed; it was the fact that he was back to caressing his cane. He continued.

"It's rather like a potion gone wrong. We must work through the sequence and locate where things stopped reacting _as they_ _ought_ …"

Snape was moving into dangerous mode, too soft, too silky. Pucey began blabbering; Sophie started on an apology. AB pushed Malfoy and almost made him talk, but Snape rounded on all of them.

"_Silence_! Do allow me the time to sort through 'The Missing Potter Conundrum'; I find the solving of them _so_ satisfying."

No one was game to deny him; not with him stalking the steps, cane in hand.

"Mister Potter was placed into this house, and despite a few teething troubles, we tottered along in our merry and obedient way …"

He reached the end of a row, gave a swish and turned around.

"Potter was nowhere to be seen yesterday when I returned from Hogsmeade, though I was at pains to tell him to stay close. Now why should that be, I wonder?"

Another row, another swish, and Snape continued musing aloud.

"I had to leave. Unfortunate, but not calamitous. After all, I had Miss Blishwick to meet with Professor McGonagall, and my capable and committed Head Prefect to deliver my note and escort Potter back to the dungeons, as well as deliver a dressing down for his disappearing act during the day. Thus far, the sequence seems fine."

He was mid-way along the back row at that point, when his prowling slowed,

"Wouldn't you say, Mr Armitage-Brown? Miss Blishwick?"

But Snape gave them no time to answer.

"Professor McGonagall confirmed that she did leave the Headmaster's study and give Potter the Gryffindor password … _Ah_! But how could she? Potter at that point would have been in the dungeons with Armitage-Brown …"

Snape whirled around and skewered AB and Sophie to the spot with the mere raise of an eyebrow.

"I wonder … have I located the point at which things stopped reacting as they ought?"

"I was putting on make-up, sir." Shame dripped from every syllable Sophie uttered.

AB dropped his head, breathed in, looked up and spoke.

"I gave him the note, but I didn't do as you asked, sir. I … I was … I'm sorry but I was too keen to go out with Cecily, sir."

"You were, were you? So our little discussion earlier didn't attend to all the matters, did it?" Snape paused to include Sophie in his gaze. "We discussed you both leaving Hogwarts; we omitted your abrogation of prefect duties."

The unease in the room lightened a fraction; caused by that rare phenomenon of Armitage-Brown and Sophie Blishwick getting in trouble. Snape caught Arno Van Den Berg gawping at Sophie with a shocked grin on his face, and cuffed him before returning to the centre of the room.

"Armitage-Brown, Pucey, Latimer and Miss Blishwick? I shall leave the matter with you. Ponder on your dereliction of duty. If you're untroubled by it, we won't speak of it again. If you are, come and find me in my study."

You poor bastards! Gloating turned to pity. If an early morning sprint around the quidditch pitch was Snape's non-punishment punishment, then deciding your own fate was his worst. It was like dismissing the executioner, placing your own head in the noose, and yanking open the trap door. Fiendish and awful.

"Conundrum solved!"

Malfoy couldn't help it; he exhaled in relief.

"Or … _is_ it? It still doesn't answer the question of why Mr Potter avoided meeting with me yesterday. Nor why he avoided Gryffindor Tower and the dungeons … one would almost think he was upset …"

Malfoy crumbled.

"It was just a joke, sir! I didn't think he'd believe me!"

It was at this point Snape dropped his softly-spoken snark, and succumbed to genuine emotion. For all his talk, he appeared to find very little joy in having solved the conundrum; students would swear they saw their housemaster stare into the abyss. Then, he snapped to.

"With me, Malfoy. The rest of you get out and look for Potter; come back without him, and I'll make use of this on the rest of you!"

**oOo**

No sooner had Malfoy entered Snape's study than he felt himself pushed over the arm of the sofa. Squeezing his eyes shut, he heard the whistling of the cane as it sliced through the air, and then felt … well, not much at all, actually. His eyes went wide in surprise.

"Make the decision to speak openly and honestly with me, Mister Malfoy, and you may rise. Choose to stay silent, however …"

Malfoy couldn't speak. He knew the night of _Incantatio Catapultum_ had been the prelude; this conversation was going to be so different.

"Get up, Malfoy."

"A moment. I'm still thinking."

"Draco," Said Snape before he pulled him up, "get up. If you make the wrong choice, believe me, six from my cane will be the least of your worries."

Snape pushed Malfoy to sit on the arm of the sofa, placed his hands on his shoulders and stared down for long seconds.

"Why did you torment Potter?"

"Because it was so easy." Shrugged Malfoy.

"Partly true, I'm sure. But not the whole truth, I'm just as sure."

The truth was surprisingly quick in coming, and was every bit as pitiful and pathetic as Snape suspected. There are no great conspiracies; simple human frailty makes them redundant. Yearning, jealousy and fear of loss will fuck things up every time. Malfoy enjoyed being Potter's friend; it was the best time he'd had in Hogwarts. But he knew it could never last. Either Potter would return to Gryffindor, or Lucius would find out and ruin everything. Better to drive Potter out and maintain some dignity; he may even win some regard from his father for his burgeoning cruelty.

"Your father isn't cruel. I've seen true cruelty, and mercifully few people have the stomach for it."

"But he's weak, and he knows it. He admires cruelty, or thinks he does."

Malfoy knew his father. Snape couldn't argue with a word of that.

"And you?"

"It terrifies me." Whispered Malfoy.

Such honesty. And the very next thing Snape did after hearing it was something that repulsed him. He devised his cover should matters not work out and the rest of the Death Eaters heard of this conversation. Draco was weak-willed, he'd tell Pucey Senior. Snape suspected that weakness came from Lucius. He was testing the Malfoy family lest they subvert the others in Slytherin House. Pucey Senior would both approve of and agree with Snape's assessment. Lucius Malfoy would be dead, and most likely Draco and Narcissa with him.

"You have a choice, Draco."

"My father loves me. I have to stay with him."

"Then why not bring your father with us?"

It was the 'us' that did it. Fear of rejection drove Malfoy; Snape recognised it from his own youth. He'd got Malfoy's attention, but there was doubt in the boy's eyes.

"I know what you want, and I want it too. It's just … I dunno, sir. I'm too weak, I suppose."

"Weak? You missed your opportunity to see real weakness. For that, you'd have had to see me in my first year of teaching."

Malfoy looked askance at the man and would have laughed had he not been so overawed by the conversation.

"What changed?"

Snape turned from Malfoy to stare into his dark past. All at once it was July, 1981 and he was up in his first floor rooms; the crippling weakness and cowardice that had so marked that year flowing once more through his veins. Outside in the castle courtyard ten obnoxious seventeen-year-old Slytherins marched arrogantly to their coaches, poised to treat the world with as much contempt as they'd treated the pupils and staff at Hogwarts. He'd stolen a look from behind his curtain and simultaneously relaxed and winced at their retreating forms. Christopher and Hugh Delingpole were dead less than two months later. Severus knew he had been complicit; every bit as useless as Slughorn had been with him. Never again.

"I learned what it meant to be weak. You don't get to hide from evil. Evil seeks out the weak, and you do its bidding because you're not strong enough to say no. You betray others and you betray yourself; it's a living death."

"I don't want this in my life. I don't want Ezra Vickery to come calling late at night, and I don't want to be Ezra Vickery, sir. But what if I'm not strong enough to say no? Then I've got no choice, have I?"

"Would you kill Pucey? Would you torture Alicia? How about slicing open Millicent's mother, are you prepared for that?"

"No!"

"Then you don't have what it takes to be weak. It's not the easy option, trust me."

"I … I don't know what to do, sir."

"Neither do I, Malfoy.' Sighed Snape. "Not yet, but we'll figure it out. We have to."

Good God, thought Snape. I was young when I came back here, but Draco Malfoy is fourteen, a child. The conversation seemed ludicrously immense; Snape had to put it back on a more familiar, domestic footing.

"What happens if you add more ginger root at shorter intervals to the Wit-Sharpening Potion?"

Odd question, but Malfoy was up for it. They'd done it a few weeks ago with Snape in class.

"It increases its effectiveness and longevity."

"Just so. Potions mirror life, Malfoy. Keep tormenting, teasing and betraying others, and it will only increase your ability to be like that. How did you feel tormenting Potter?"

"Clever … and angry … and disgusted with myself. I'm dark; I know it, sir."

Had it been self-pitying, Snape would have screamed and most probably committed an act of gross violence. But it wasn't; it was raw honesty.

"Listen to me, Malfoy. You are dark, and I am, and most people are. But here's the thing; it needn't define you."

"Sir?"

"Which is the good person, Malfoy? The person who doesn't understand evil, or the person who rejects evil?"

"The one who rejects it."

"And how can a person reject evil, truly reject it, if they've never encountered it in themselves? Only people who have seen the shadow, the dark reflection of themselves are capable of true goodness."

"It's going to be so hard."

"It is." Said Snape, faintly relieved Malfoy was back to whining

**oOo**

Send Malfoy to his dorm for some much needed sleep? No, thought Snape. Fellowship, that's what Malfoy craved, and Snape was clever enough to know that children craved precisely what they needed.

"Go and join the search for Potter."

"So … erm … is that it then?"

"What?"

"I'm not getting caned?"

"This was an aberration, Malfoy. Henceforth, normal service is resumed. In any case, I did cane you. If anyone asks, you tell them."

"Right, sir."

Snape opened the door to the corridor, and was gratified to see Alicia Mayhew lurking by the stone column. He was even more gratified to see Malfoy adopt a pained walk towards her; the nosy nitwit was bound to tell everyone of Malfoy's frightful thrashing.

Too early for a glass of whisky? Really? Snape reluctantly supposed that at twenty past eight in the morning it most probably was. Potentially a momentous event had just occurred, and like all momentous happenings it refused contemplation. Too big, it demanded distance. He set it aside for late at night, and recalled he had a Potter to go and catch.

**oOo**

**Snape's study, 8:55 am**

_Self-pity is the most pernicious of all vices. I will choose alcohol, loose women and the misuse of potions before I fall for its fatal charms._

_Self-pity is the most pernicious of all vices. I will choose alcohol, loose women and the misuse of potions before I fall for its fatal charms._

_Self-pity is the most pernicious of all vices. I will choose alcohol, loose women and the misuse of potions before I fall for its fatal charms._

_Self-pity is the most pernicious of all vices. I will choose alcohol, loose women and the misuse of potions before I fall for its fatal charms._

_Self-pity is the most pernicious of all vices. I will choose alcohol, loose women and the misuse of potions before I fall for its fatal charms._

_Self-pity is the most pernicious of all vices. I will choose alcohol, loose women and the misuse of potions before I fall for its fatal charms._

_Self-pity is the most pernicious of all vices. I will choose alcohol, loose women and the misuse of potions before I fall for its fatal charms._

_Self-pity is the most pernicious of all vices. I will choose alcohol, loose women and the misuse of potions before I fall for its fatal charms._

_Self-pity is the most pernicious of all vices. I will choose alcohol, loose women and the misuse of potions before I fall for its fatal charms._

Harry paused in his writing. Too long, it seemed.

"Why is your quill not moving?"

"Hand's sweaty." Said Harry, rubbing his palm on his trouser leg.

"Delightful. Get on with it, Potter."

The scratching on parchment resumed for another few minutes before pausing once more.

"What _now_?"

"The desk's too low; my back's sore. Why can't I sit down, sir?"

Snape looked up from his mass of papers.

"After the trouble you've caused, you should be grateful you're standing as punishment - and not because you're incapable of sitting down."

Hang on; what does that mean? Does it mean I'm definitely not getting the Malfoy treatment? He felt his anxiety levels drop a few notches, but other than that, he couldn't really say how he felt. Not that there was a lack of feeling. Quite the contrary, there was a surfeit of feelings; every few minutes brought another to supersede the last. There'd been shock, of course. A whirlwind of black entering a small room, dragging you from your seat, and then assaulting _your_ seat was guaranteed to shock. But that was nothing. The three strikes of Snape's wand over jeans and chunky knit jumper hadn't hurt a bit; it had been all sound and fury, signifying nothing but Snape's excess of rage. And as the Snakes regularly said, 'This is Snape; what are you gonna do?'

Then there'd been a potent little brew bubbling within him: anger at being called ungrateful; frustration that he was misunderstood, and a certain amount of fear mixed with elation that he was finally in a position to tell Snape how he really felt. That all fizzled even before the note revelation; Harry could tell from the way Snape crossed his arms and peered down his long nose that he'd effed up once more. Huge embarrassment and he felt a complete tit, but the thing was it came with a sense of calm on its tail.

**oOo**

The sight of Potter holed up and sitting determinedly miserable in the room Irma Pince referred to as 'the cockroaches' lavatory' had infuriated Snape. He had every intention of slippering the self-indulgence out of the boy, but around the fourth step down to the dungeons he changed his mind. It was self-pity, but Potter was fourteen; it was practically a job requirement at that age. Self-inflicted or not, the boy's upset was real. And there was no sense in giving a harsh punishment to angry, bewildered, or upset children. They didn't accept the consequence; it just made them resentful. He'd learned that bent over Apollyon Pringle's desk, enduring the unfair fall of the cane.

More than that, he understood Potter's self-centred nitwittery perfectly. He'd been an outcast his whole life, and yet he'd never grown accustomed to it; the fear of rejection still haunted him. It was one of the reasons he drank in _The Hog's Head_, and not _The Three Broomsticks_. None of the wretched souls in Aberforth's establishment turned a hair when he walked in, but Madam Rosmerta and her patrons? He'd be given his marching orders immediately.

On the few occasions he'd ventured in as a student, he'd seen her collecting glasses and stopping a while at James Potter and Sirius Black's table to laugh and gossip with them. Sixteen-year-old Snape had yearned for some of that warmth, and not simply because Rosmerta was a fine looking witch. But what had he done about that yearning? He hadn't smoothed out his prickliness; he hadn't thought to smile, and enquire after her day. No, because those were the actions of adults. He had withdrawn further, and convinced himself she was every bit as hateful as Potter and Black. But everyone must reach out to someone, and who had there been for the misanthropic Snape? Certainly not those in loco parentis. Just like today, Hogwarts back then had also had the peculiar notion that anyone from the age of eleven up was perfectly capable of navigating the adult world. And so Snape had navigated it, straight to the Death Eaters. No. Never punish angry children; he knew where it led.

**oOo**

Snape snatched the note mid-air.

"I knew it." He groaned.

He looked around his study, desk littered with academic papers, a folder of tentative exam questions, correspondence from other professors strewn across the sofa, and gave another weary groan. He couldn't have the boy in here, yet there was so much to discuss.

"How much have you done?"

Of course he was disapproving of the amount of lines Harry had written. Nevertheless, he snatched up the parchment, balled it, tossed it and ostentatiously blasted it with an _Incantatio Catapultum_ before summoning Harry from the cruelly short desk. He prodded the boy to the connecting door of his private quarters, and Harry stood fascinated as Snape's wand hovered over various door panels, a series of clicks and whirrs sounding for close to thirty seconds before the door swung open.

"Sit down. _Don't_ move. I'll be back." Ordered Snape, pushing Harry down onto the sofa.

He wavered by the door before heading to his bookshelves, selecting a book and thrusting it at Harry.

"I'll be quizzing you on that!"

Snape left and Harry turned the book over; it was _The Red Badge of Courage_. He'd read it. Zabini had leant it to him in his first week in Slytherin. The mantel clock ticked away the passing minutes, and Harry grew bored. He decided to swap his book. Yes, he'd have to move but not even Snape would object to him choosing another book. The man was mad about books. He wandered over to the shelves, and began perusing. The titles meant nothing; he hadn't heard of any of them, but _In Cold Blood_ caught his eye. Snape must have liked it, too; the spine was damaged and stained as if through multiple readings. He reached up and pulled the book from the shelf, showering himself with loose leaves of paper in the process.

Harry laid down the book, and began collecting the fallen leaves. He assumed at first they were pages from the book. But as he picked up first one then another, he realised they were the wrong size. A closer inspection saw them to be covered, not in type face, but in in Snape's spiky script. Sophie Blishwick? Why was her name at the head of a column? An arrow led from her name into another column; Harry read the heading: _siblings/risk?_ There was a cross by the arrow head, and what he assumed was a bracketed explanation. He tried to read on, but Snape's writing was partially coded, and it didn't make any sense to him: _(1 older__ conf'd foll')._ He looked at another sheet, this one headed _'Malfoys'_. '_Lucius'_, '_Narcissa'_, and '_Draco'_ were clearly visible, but Snape had added so many annotations around the names, Harry could barely make anything else out. He thought it said _Luc' __ Dr. risk/turn?_ No idea what that meant. Narcissa was circled in red ink, an arrow leading away and the words '_best bet'_ written near it. He flicked through more papers, and saw more names of Slytherin students; some were marked with ticks, others crosses, and some with question marks. He looked to see if his own name was there; couldn't see it. He leant back onto the nearby armchair pondering when it dawned on him the notes had been written in multiple inks, as if this were a major undertaking, not a single afternoon's doodling. This sent fear, and a thrill, through Harry. What was he holding? He had no idea what it all meant, but it obviously meant a lot to Snape.

Bugger! The pages were out of order! But were they in any logical order to begin with? He scanned the bottom and top of each page to see if any followed on from the next. Didn't seem to. That was a scare and Harry had had his fill of drama. Squeezing past the armchair, he lay the papers on the bottom shelf of Snape's book case and started patting them into a neat pile, ready to replace. CLICK, CLICK, WHIRR! The door! Fuckety fuck! Snape was back! In less than a heartbeat, Harry was in full-blown panic mode - rapid breaths and sweating. The thin papers stuck to his clammy hands. He shook them off and they fluttered to the floor. He dived down on the carpet and picked them up, manically straightening them as he reached up to replace them. They slotted into the shelf much more easily … odd. The book! He'd forgotten the bloody book! He reached back for it, and tried to replace both it and the notes simultaneously. The bookshelf was packed too tightly; he couldn't wedge in the book. _Shit_! Didn't Snape know it was bad for books to be too tightly packed? CLICK, CLICK, WHIRR, WHIRR. I'm dead.

Seven more CLICKS of the door came. On the second click, Harry gibbered. On the fourth, he finally jammed the book and notes into the shelf. On the fifth, he lunged back onto the sofa, and on the seventh, he picked up _The Red Badge of Courage_, flicked to page five, and forced himself to look engrossed. Snape barged into the room.

"What page are you on?" He demanded.

"Five, sir."

"_Five_?! Good grief, Potter. On what page does the story actually begin?"

Harry turned back a few pages. Bloody hell … page 1 was the dedication, page 2 an acknowledgement, and page 3 a picture.

"Page four, sir."

"Keep it up, Potter. At this rate you'll be surpassing the average four-year-old in reading prowess."

But Harry was riding high on his success in replacing those notes. He wasn't cowed by Snape's snark, and recalled one of the many, many tellings-off Snape had issued in the common room.

"Ah well sir, I take into account the time and effort a writer takes to craft a tale. I savour each word, I don't pillage the text like a rampaging Viking."

Snape plucked the paperback from his hand and clouted him round the head with it; thus proving he approved of Harry's words. He sat in the armchair opposite, and placed his large, bony hands on each arm.

"I've just spoken to Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall …"

"Oh." Said Harry.

" 'Oh' indeed. You owe Professor McGonagall an explanation and an apology."

"I'll go and see her now, sir."

"You'll listen to me first. Don't ask me any questions; just do as I say. Your night of mischievous rule-breaking was prompted by a 'dare' got out of hand. Do you understand?"

"Someone dared me to break curfew and not sleep in the dorm?"

"Exactly. Choose one of the usual suspects: Malfoy, Crabbe, or Miss Bulstrode. Neither Professor McGonagall nor Professor Dumbledore will ask, but should anyone else, you were punished severely and you have no intention of doing it again."

"Punished severely … was that the lines, then? Or … um … or …"

"Or am I going to thrash you?"

"Yeah."

Snape waited a beat.

"You came this close." He answered, holding up his thumb and forefinger barely a millimetre apart. "You invent whatever you think a credible punishment. The gossips will embroider and change it out of all recognition regardless. Now, I believe I'm owed an explanation."

He was; Harry knew that. He just didn't know what to say. He hated Malfoy, but could he drop him in it? Not that he actually cared about The Prat; it just wasn't house protocol to tattle to the housemaster - especially when the housemaster was as decisive and quick to act as Snape.

"For your information, Potter, I punished Malfoy for goading you. He admitted to tormenting you with having to leave the house."

"He admitted it?"

"He did. What I want to know is why you neglected to speak to anyone, and instead chose to indulge yourself in an astonishing display of self-pity."

"It wasn't self-pity; I was upset!"

"And your answer to that is sitting in a room full of mouldy books and rat droppings, is it? Do give me a copy of the _Potter Self Help Manual_ should you ever get round to writing one; it promises to be as informative as Gilderoy Lockhart's scribblings."

"It's what you do when you're upset, and I wasn't going to stay there! I was going …"

Harry petered off. Snape didn't need to know that. Snape, however, suspected the answer.

"If you tell me you were planning to leave the castle, I'm getting my cane."

Rather predictably, Harry denied that.

"Do you like being upset, Potter? Do you enjoy misery?"

"_No_! Of course I bloody don't! _Sorry_! I'm sorry."

"Moderate your tone; I will not have you speaking to me like that. If lower school students cannot control their emotions, I have them stand in the corner until they can. Do you need to stand in the corner, Potter?"

"No, sir."

"Then listen to me. Malfoy behaved appallingly, and you too behaved badly."

Snape could sense Harry was about to erupt. He held up his long forefinger to ward off another Potter denial.

"_Listen_. You made the choice not to consider matters at all. Think about all the vicious comments Malfoy made; did he say any of them in front of other people?"

Harry thought back, realised he didn't, and shook his head.

"You're a child, but you're not a young child; his whispering in private should have told you it was a personal vendetta, and that he wasn't speaking truthfully. You have to learn to not simply react. Think! Use your brain!"

"I had so much to think about!"

"And yet you thought about nothing properly! You chose the luxurious path of self-pity. Mark me well; self-pity destroys everything but itself. Your revelling in misery meant you didn't turn up to meet with me. I'd have told you immediately you were staying put in Slytherin. I recognise you were upset and may not have wanted to speak to me, but why didn't you speak to any of the prefects? They are there to help people. They're not perfect; even Armitage-Brown and Miss Blishwick have managed to temporarily fall from grace, but they are excellent listeners."

"I know, sir."

"Over two hours I waited for you!"

That was bad; Harry knew.

"Sorry, I didn't think."

"No, you didn't. Seventy other children are in this house, Potter - or do you imagine they all have lives of infinite ease?"

"No." Whispered Harry.

"Hours spent searching for you robs them. Remember that, and believe me when I tell you self-pity will ruin relationships. Think about it; did you confide in any of your other housemates?"

"But they didn't say anything about me leaving …"

"Why should they have done, hmm? Should it have been at the forefront of their minds? Circled on their calendars perhaps? 'The Day of Doom: Potter is leaving, woe to us all'?"

Snarky git. But he still had to force himself not to smile at Snape's response.

"At the risk of you having another meltdown, I'm going to posit a theory: your housemates simply forgot. You didn't bring the matter up with them; it slipped their mind. It's the holidays, Potter; they're busy having mindless fun and causing trouble. But tell me one thing, a few days ago Miss Mayhew was upset in the common room; have you spoken to her about it?"

"Her horrible aunt, you mean? The one that's mad about pink? I didn't think it was anything serious."

"Does Miss Mayhew seem the type to weep in public?"

Harry felt like shit; Alicia had been brilliant earlier - mad, but brilliant.

"No … not at all … I didn't think …"

"See how easy it is to overlook things? This isn't a scold I'm about to give; this is a gift: learn to focus more on others. It's the only thing that makes life worthwhile. You have the ability, nurture it. We'll all need something to cling to soon …"

Snape broke off and stared at a vase on the table. Harry tried looking at it too, but memories of all the Snakes who'd asked him if he was okay assailed him - along with his replies that he was fine. He hadn't said a word to Blaise, or Vince, or anyone. Millicent! If he'd said something to her, she'd have punched Malfoy's lights out and then barged into Snape's office to sort things out. None of this would have happened.

"I didn't speak to anyone." He said quietly.

He thought Snape hadn't heard him, but a minute later he spoke.

"Any of your Gryffindor friends?"

Nope. Hadn't said a word to Hermione.

"Don't tell me, Potter. You kept quiet because no one could possibly understand, or help?"

Yep. That was about the size of it. He'd gone beyond feeling foolish, and was now hovering between ungrateful and mean. Snape darted forward, but for once, his thin, strong hand didn't land a hefty slap, it gently patted Harry's knee.

"You didn't invent mawkish self-pity. Many have trod that path before you,"

"You sir?"

"I set up home on that path. It was very nearly my downfall …"

Snape had spoken the last words so softly Harry wasn't even sure he was meant to have heard them. He'd never seen Snape like this before; it wasn't to last. A deep inhalation, and the hand that had gently patted him rose and came down in a thunderous slap.

"_Ow_!"

"That didn't hurt."

"That's your opinion." Carped Harry.

"Of course it's my opinion; who else's should I spout? Now, focus. I know of what I speak; 'hard done by', 'underappreciated' and 'life is unfair' … those thoughts will destroy everything. You've done a great disservice to your friends, and I've decided I am going to punish you further."

Bloody hell! That made Harry forget his stinging thigh, and sit up straighter.

"You're going to think about the person you've treated most shabbily and make it up to him or her. That's your punishment: one single act of reparation. No more futile, indulgent misery. If I catch you moping, I'll thrash you in the Great Hall at suppertime. Do you hear?"

"Yes, sir. Sir?"

"What is it?"

"Those lines you had me write … they were the best lines I've ever written!"

"Hmm. Best not mention the wording to Professor McGonagall. One other matter, Potter. The contents of my note, your staying in Slytherin until the end of the year. This is your opportunity to object, or accept with grace."

The great pay off to turmoil is the resolution. Not that it always happens, but sometimes, like now, everything works out. Those words from Snape didn't make Harry want to leap around the room cheering; they dripped onto him like softened candle wax and warmed him. Everything just seemed so right. But this was Snape he was dealing with, and Harry knew better than to appear too grateful. He affected nonchalance, and after a few moments said a simple,

"Fine with me, sir."

It had been the right choice Harry decided after seeing his housemaster give a curt nod of acknowledgement. Thereafter neither person spoke, and Harry began reaching for _The Red Badge of Courage _to give back to Snape. He chanced a look under his fringe at the man opposite him. Bloody hell, just look at him sitting there, as if he didn't feel anything. But he must feel stuff; he couldn't say those things if he didn't feel stuff. He came out with all these great things that really made sense, and just look at him sitting there as if it was nothing. Just look at him. _SHIT_! Just LOOK AT HIM! Under the chair beneath Snape lay a square of paper with '_Blishwick'_ clearly written at the top.

What the fuck am I going to do?! How am I going to get that paper? He's got more locks on his door than Gringott's; I'll never be able to get back in here! Snape's the tidiest person on the planet; he's bound to notice it when he stands up. Shitting, fucking hell! He's gonna kill me!

"Then I suggest you retrieve your trunk from wherever you've stashed it, and return it to your dorm. We shall say no more about the matter."

"_No_!" Yelled Harry, so forcefully it came out almost as a yodel.

"I beg your pardon!"

Oh bloody hell! Was he really going to do this? He'd have to; he couldn't think of anything else. And here he was thinking Dudley's oversized tracksuit pants falling down around his ankles in the middle of _Marks and Spencer_ had been a low point. Oh no, no, no. He was about to sink much lower than that. Literally.

"No! I _will_ say more about the matter! I … I want to. I _must_!"

"There's really no need, Potter."

Was there no other way? Nope. Couldn't think of sodding thing. Snape looked on aghast at the show of emotion.

"I have to tell you how grateful I am!" Harry lurched towards Snape.

"No, you don't!" Snape recoiled into the chair.

"But I'm_ so_ grateful! Truly, madly, deeply grateful!"

He fell at Snape's feet. The right foot pulled back, and Harry knew he was about to be kicked in the face. But before Snape's revulsion could win against his thin veneer of professionalism, Harry's arm stretched and grabbed the note. He quickly shoved it down the neck of his jumper. A split second later, he felt an almighty whack on his backside. Next, Snape's whacking hand clutched at Harry's clothing and he was pulled to standing.

"Is this your idea of a joke, Potter?"

Brilliant! The Git had handed him back his dignity!

"Thought we could both do with a laugh, sir."

Five minutes later and his ear was out-stinging his rear. Snape had given his blessing to the 'joke' in his customary manner of a hearty cuff to the side of the head, but Harry didn't mind. He'd unpacked his trunk and now lay flopped backwards on his bed in chipper mood. All was well; well, not quite. He had to go and face the rest of the Snakes in the common room. Snape was right; he had done them a disservice. He was too scared to feel bad about it in case it caused him to 'mope' and he ended up getting his arse whacked in front of the entire school. So he jumped off his bed, and went running off to face the music.


	8. Tricky Conversations

**A/N: 1 **It's good to be back! Went travelling, got sick, got better, and wrote a thesis - so I haven't been twiddling my thumbs. That aside, thanks for the kick up the arse, Hamlet!

**A/N 2: **I can't remember whose reviews I've replied to, so please accept a heartfelt thanks if I haven't personally been in touch. I will try harder!

**A/N 3: **This follows on directly from the last chapter, and the titular tricky conversations aren't completed btw (the chapter was just getting too long).

**Chapter 8: Tricky Conversations**

**Snape's study, 10 am**

No sooner had Potter scarpered, than Snape sank back into his armchair to wallow in ten glorious minutes of uninterrupted, unadulterated, self-pitying luxury. Hypocritical? Most definitely! For Harry Potter's disappearing act had reminded Severus of something long forgotten: self-pity is _the_ most luxurious emotion. Softer than silk, sweeter than chocolate, and more beguiling than an Argentinian tango. And after the morning he'd had, Severus was up for a burst of that.

Why him? Why was it _always_ him? What the hell did Flitwick do? Prat about with the school choir? Minerva, when not nattering to Poppy, sequestered herself in her rooms claiming to be overwhelmed with the dual role of teaching and being deputy, but Severus knew she was tucked up on her sofa, scouring the _Witches' Weekly_ gossip column and sipping scotch. And don't get him started on Pomona and Sybill … Who else had to shoulder as many burdens as he? What was he going to do about Lucius? He'd never last if the Dark Lord came back. What the hell was Severus supposed to do … and yet he'd have to do something. And it wasn't simply the Malfoys; what about the other Death Eater families in his house? How could Severus keep those children safe? And Potter! Trying to keep track of him, as well as his Snakes? Merlin! What had Albus done to him?!

And then the lightning bolt of reason found the point of least resistance, and struck Severus right between the eyes. That conniving, old goat! Not what had Albus done _to_ him, what had Albus done _for_ him! On his feet in a trice, he paced around the study. Albus Dumbledore had handed him a gift, but only a partial one. Severus needed to ask the help of one other to make the gift whole. Dumbledore had found his Achilles heel …

The fact he'd just come within a hair's breadth of giving Potter a hiding for not seeking help didn't escape Snape. But Potter was fourteen, and fourteen-year-olds had no business thinking themselves self-sufficient. That was merely adolescent hubris that deserved to be punished, whereas Snape was a different case entirely. He was the traitor who'd turned to the Light, but not before havoc had been wreaked. Who would help him? Snivelling Snape, who sold the Longbottoms down the river, and failed the Potters. Who would really help him? _Tick_ _tock_, _tick_ _tock_. Ten minutes were up! You damn fool, growled Snape. Even Potter got through his thick skull the need to ask for help! Why can you teach that stubborn wretch, and not yourself? Because, because … we teach best what we most need to learn. Then learn it, and learn it fast!

Once he'd admonished himself with suitable severity, Snape took a moment to reflect on what a day it had already been - and what a bugger of a day still lay before him.

**oOo**

**Snape's study, 11 am**

Such a tricky negotiation for two souls determined not to gush. What do you do when you both find undiluted emotion more distasteful than sour milk? Answer: you cling to what is familiar.

"Why is it always me that treks down here?"

Snape held up a finger to pause her speech, laying down his book only after finishing the page. He mulled her question over with the exaggerated moves of a pantomime actor.

"Your parents never adequately taught you not to impose on others, perhaps?"

Oh, the things she could have said in response to that barb! Severus Snape, of all people, pontificating on inter-personal skills. The mind boggled. But like so often when the choice is vast, Minerva was helpless to decide which of his many faults to seize upon, and so sat flummoxed as he again picked up his book.

"A cup of tea?!" Came her exasperated demand.

"Your own kettle isn't working?" Snape asked, flicking over a page rather than looking at her.

"_I_ have to check that Potter is alright. _I_ have to come down here. _I_ have to suffer your bad mood, and, I suppose, _I_ have to make the tea?"

"I'll do it." Said Snape.

"No, _I'll_ do it."

"You've just been complaining that you do everything!"

"I know," Sighed Minerva, "but I do like things done properly."

She may as well have pointed her wand to his temple and screeched 'Crucio!' A proud Lancastrian, Snape took the brewing of tea as a sacrament. Minerva inwardly gloated; she'd found success, and gave a little twist of the blade.

"You don't warm the pot thoroughly, and you leave it too long before pouring."

"It needs to steep!"

"Exactly. It needs to steep, _not_ stew."

"Make tea for yourself. I'll get my own."

"How are you going to manage that with one teapot?"

She'd riled him now, and he rummaged around on his shelves for confiscated cigarettes. They were there somewhere. Students got sloppy during the holidays; only a week ago Millicent and Warrington had both come back to the dungeons reeking of tobacco. He'd pounced on them. One briskly efficient interrogation later saw them handing over the forbidden items before shuffling off only a mite sore. Snape always went easier in the holidays.

"What are you looking for? It's a wonder you can find anything at all; you cram far too much onto your shelves."

He spotted the red and white packet sitting atop his copy of _Decline and Fall_.

"I know _exactly_ where things are on these shelves, madam. Now kindly go about your business of spoiling a pot of tea."

"Cigarettes _indoors_? The ramparts are one thing, but indoors? You're not going to smoke them in front of me, I hope?"

"I wouldn't dream of it." Assured Severus, "I'm throwing you out!"

She huffed and the grousing continued unabated. Because that's the way they liked it. They each had something they wished to broach with the other, and needed a long limbering-up process before they could get to it. But as he ungraciously wafted cigarette smoke in her direction, he found himself staring at the tight bun on the top of her head, and becoming enveloped in thought. He hadn't signed up for this; Dumbledore had duped him. He'd signed up to protect Potter, _and_ steer Slytherin House onto the right path - his own private vow, that one. Along the way, he'd weathered the mistrust of his colleagues, and seen the slow re-emergence of Death Eaters: dull-witted Flint Senior, foolish Karkaroff, doltish Crabbe and Doyle, evil Wilberforce Nott, and chilling Pucey Senior.

The loathsome mongrel Black had likewise reappeared. It'd pained Severus to learn the cur hadn't betrayed the Potters, but he'd weathered that truth, too. He'd even admitted something he long suspected; Lupin had a shred of dignity and goodness about him. The wolf had borne his dismissal from Hogwarts with grace, assuring Snape he knew he'd only been safeguarding the students. Snape had sneered at that, informing Lupin that acting in loco parentis had, for once, been so, _so_ rewarding. But all the same, he'd caught the sad smile on Lupin's face, and determined to continue the supply of Wolfsbane potion.

Yet he hadn't signed up to admit frailty, to ask help of another. The rare moments in his life when he had, loomed large in his mind; his distraught plea for forgiveness from Lily Evans, only to have her scoff at his wretched appearance. His panicked flight to Dumbledore, to be told he disgusted the great wizard. He looked in alarm at the tremor of his hand holding the cigarette. What would Minerva say to him? Would he even have the courage to ask?

**oOo**

**Slytherin common room, 11 am**

He wished he was back with Snape, and what nutter wishes that?! But he'd felt so reassured there. Okay, major scare when he'd gone poking around the bookshelves, but with some quick thinking he'd got himself out of trouble. Unconsciously, he patted his chest. Bloody hell! Snape's note was still stuffed down his jumper; why hadn't he got rid of that? Alicia Mayhew's head turned at the crinkle of paper, and then went back immediately to sorting all the mixed-up jigsaw pieces.

"Let me help you, Lissy. It'll be faster with two of us." Suggested Harry.

No response. Oh bloody hell. If even Alicia Mayhew wasn't speaking to him, it was worse than he thought. They weren't cross with him; they were _hurt_.

"I don't know what came over me. I'm a dick." He'd then announced.

Harry glanced over at Malfoy, alone at the back of the room polishing the wood panelling, and saw him biting his tongue not to agree. But even handed that gift, the Platinum Prat managed to stay as silent as the rest of them, though Harry was pleased to note no one had chosen to do chores with him, _and_ he winced as he reached up to polish the top panel. Good. Alicia's report had been correct; The Prat had been caned. Harry hoped it'd hurt like hell, but it didn't help his situation. Malfoy was obviously in disgrace, but the Snakes wouldn't take kindly to Harry blaming everything on him. They could see he'd taken a serious punishment, and in any case, it wasn't _all_ Malfoy's fault. Snape was right; he should have trusted them. But what to do? How to put it right when they were too upset to talk?

"Slipper, no cane. _Fourteen_ whacks!"

No reaction.

"They were fierce!"

Still no reaction.

"It was a dozen, but I got two extra for leading Alicia astray. Sorry Alicia."

Her head twitched, but a low cough from Philip Aitcheson saw her looking steadfastly at the jigsaw pieces. He was running out of options, and he felt like a berk prattling away in the middle of the room to utter silence.

"Not as fierce as the telling off I got, though …"

Still a sea of mute, despondent faces. Fibbing wasn't working; he needed to tell them the truth, and that … well, that was a hard thing to do for someone never quite certain what regard people held him in.

"I deserved it … and more probably. Thing is, I've had a great time in Slytherin. Coming here's been the best thing that's ever happened to me at Hogwarts."

Not a chink in their armour of misery. Sodding hell! This lot were droopier than Ron on a bad day. Thing was, Ron's fits of maudlin introspection were seldom, if ever, justified. This was different. Here was a group despised for the sins of their parents. And they'd treated Harry well. Once they'd discovered Gryffindor had turned on him, and that the Dursleys were a dead loss, they'd extended the hand of friendship. Harry recalled Millicent telling him so that snowy afternoon by the lake in late November - even Malfoy had been on board with it all. The Platinum Ponce of all people … Other memories zoomed in to occupy an uncomfortable spot in his mind. Fred and George's cruel pranks at the Slytherins' expense, the cavalier slights and accusations routinely directed at the Snakes, and his own realisation of how uncritically the rest of Hogwarts accepted the 'evil, dark, Slytherin' line. What must it feel like to have all the other houses believe you capable of hurling ten unforgivables before breakfast? Those poor sods … and he'd thrown their decency back in their faces. He was going to have to dig deeper.

"I mean, _you_ Millicent! I was terrified of you! Just 'cos everyone else was really … well, that and the fact you tried to punch Hermione's face in that time in The Duelling Club. But you're great. You are! A great big lump of greatness …"

Oh God, that sounded awful! His nerves were making him more inept than usual. Pansy Parkinson even dropped the sad face to snicker.

"_Sturdy_! I meant sturdy and great! And Pansy? You're nowhere near as bitchy as everyone says. Well, not all the time anyway. All you prefects are brill' - way better than Gryffindors'. Snape's a headcase, but he actually cares. I know most of the time we wish he didn't, but there's nothing phoney about him, not like the rest of them."

Harry did a slow pirouette on his lonely spot on the carpet, and began singling out Snakes to eulogise. AB? Honourable, decent and kind. Urquhart? Dependable, good man in a crisis. Pucey? Fun, caring, and 'just a great laugh'. Emerald Sykes was 'solid, no nonsense'; Goyle was 'an ace dancer'. Fortunately, Harry had the presence of mind not to start on Tracey Davis. Who knows what he would have revealed had he expounded forth on the lush Tracey? All the while, winks, nods, smirks and nudges abounded behind his back.

"I know, I know." He raised his hands in supplication, "I was a self-pitying plonker - but how could I be happy about giving all this up?! I'd even miss Vince and Greg's farting!"

On cue, Vincent sounded forth.

"There you go, Potter. My compliments!"

"_Crabbe_! That's bloody noxious!" Cried Daphne.

She was right, but Harry didn't care. _Finally_! They were speaking.

"Frigging hell, Crabbe! Couldn't you have kept shtum a little longer? We were all enjoying watching him squirm!" Berated Millicent.

"Oh, and by the way Potter, the word's _fat_ \- not 'sturdy', not 'big boned', and definitely not 'pleasantly plump'. Though 'hefty' will do; I like 'hefty'."

"Right." Said Harry, "Wait … hang on! You mean you're not hurt? I thought I'd upset all of you."

"Oh, please! We live with Severus Snape, remember? How sympathetic do you think he'd be if we all started bleating about our feelings getting hurt?!"

"Right." Said Harry again. "I erm … I suppose I looked like a bit of a berk just then?"

"When you were raving over Mill's luscious lumpiness, you mean?" Giggled Daphne.

"Not to mention your frankly creepy and alarming appreciation of Crabbe's 'emissions'!" Added Pucey.

"Yeah … that. Thing is, it's all true. Not the farting, but the rest is true. And Alicia you tried to help me. I'm sorry if I got you in trouble."

"That's okay, Potter. Give me a lend of your dad's cloak when you get it back, and we'll call it even."

"No chance."

"Worth a try." She chirruped before sighing a long, deep sigh, "You mustn't worry too much about me, though. Snape walloped me _really_ hard, but I'm used to it. You see it's always me that gets in trouble."

Unlike Alicia, thought Harry. It was her habit to affect not caring when she fell foul of Snape.

"Always _you_?! What about _us_?! _We_ had to wax and polish Licorus!"

Elsa and Tory were allowed a few brief moments of limelight to recount the gripes and insults Licorus Black had sent their way before Malfoy piped up.

"Always _you_?! What about _me_?! Potter gets the poxy slipper, and I get caned!"

Well, thank you Snape; you really are a decent head of house, thought Harry. Though he was surprised at The Prat's candidness. He'd have imagined him to come out with some bollock-brained reasoning, such as Snape only bothered to use the cane on Pure Bloods, saving the ratty old slipper for those of lesser lineage. Complete tosh, but Malfoy would say anything to claw his way up to a superior position.

"Always _you_?! What about _us_! We have to take ourselves off to Snape's study when all we were trying to do was provide a bit of evening entertainment." Latimer cried.

"It's true." Agreed Pucey. "No one understands us. We try so hard to be good prefects, and look what ends up happening … we're cruelly misunderstood."

"_You're_ misunderstood?! What about _me_?! But … oh, well … no one could understand, I suppose …"

Hang on, thought Harry. Arno Van Den Berg?! The boy whose sole mission in life was to eat more puddings than Vincent Crabbe? Why was he overcome with existential despair? Something didn't smell right here … Hmm … They _knew_.

"How do you know what Snape said to me?" Harry demanded.

"We live day in day out with the man. Plus we got the truth out of Malfoy; we know what a conniving little tit he's been. We know you chucked a wobbly, and we know how Snape would've dealt with it." Explained Tracey.

"We're hazarding a guess the slippering came with a homily on the perils of self-pity? Something about it topping the list of pernicious vices?" Queried Pucey with a satisfied smirk.

"Yup."

**oOo**

**Snape's study, 11:30 am**

The tea had been made, and a compromise of sorts reached. Minerva had insisted on using the tea strainer to pour the tea, but Severus had made her wait a full five minutes to allow it to steep. Thus she had a little grumble,

"I'm not enjoying this. It's stewed."

And so did he,

"The best bit has been left in the tea strainer. Tea leaves in the bottom of the cup keep imparting the flavour."

Thus they were both content. And once the elaborate ritual of grousing had been performed, they could get down to really speaking to one another.

"This dare," Began Minerva, "Potter was happy going along with it, wasn't he? He wasn't bullied, or tricked into doing it?"

"It's a fair question; I mean Potter's always been so compliant, never broken a rule in his school career."

But it was said with warmth, and Minerva smiled.

"Careful, Severus." She warned, "You're almost sounding affectionate. Have you managed to stop seeing James …"

"No. Let's not revisit that."

She let her question rest despite the fact they'd never truly visited the matter at all, and they drank in silence a few moments.

"I only ask because the Slytherins are so much more adept at … umm … getting their way in a more, oh I don't know … a more unobtrusive manner."

He enjoyed his friend struggling to accuse the Snakes of being arch manipulators in such genteel terms, and then took pity on her.

"Shall we take a look and see if Potter has been manipulated into misery by my fiendish house?"

He led her to the wooden grill that screened his office entrance from the common room. What appeared, from the common room, to be an almost solid wooden screen was in fact a mass of carved, intertwining serpents. At roughly six feet from the bottom, three serpent heads met and just where their forked tongues threatened to touch one another was a gap from which the common room could be viewed in perfect anonymity. A flick of his wand, and Snape summoned a footstool. Minerva stood upon it, and he rested his chin on her shoulder. He felt rather than heard the relaxed sigh she gave. Potter was sitting on the card table grinning and cackling with delight, as he watched the Snakes gather around him vying to out-angst each other.

"Look at the poor wretch; he's grief-stricken." Declared Snape.

**oOo**

The competition to claim that coveted top spot of pernicious vices was in full flight. Common sense was now heresy; the room had turned into a caucus of the downtrodden and put upon. Forensic analyses were taking place from people's earliest days at Hogwarts. One after another, gripes were dusted off and presented to the gratifyingly shocked audience, though the attention was only superficial - everyone was too intent on perfecting their own tale of woe.

"I once handed Angelina Johnson the soap in the girls' lavatories near the library. She said 'thank you', but it was the _way_ she said it. It dashed all the confidence clear out of me. I've felt used and abused ever since."

People oozed concern at Pansy's appalling treatment, left a respectful two seconds of silence, then leapt into the breach trying to get their own mawkish anecdote heard. Bletchley won the battle, and Malfoy's eyes momentarily sparked before he forced them to assume melancholy despair. He nodded at Miles' plight, then despite no one much caring, shared his own torment.

"I've no one to blame but myself, I suppose …"

Sounds about right, thought Harry.

"Why's that?" Asked Pansy, hushing the others against their will.

"I don't want to talk about it." Whispered Malfoy.

Good, thought Harry. Though, of course, Malfoy did.

"I've never really got over my first night here … the rejection, I mean …"

Here it comes, sighed Harry. And it did. Malfoy supposed a little of his faith in humanity had died that first night in Hogwarts. He'd put himself out there, vulnerable as a new born babe, and requested the friendship of another. Request denied. Curiously no mention was made of his barrage of insults to the Weasley family. Odd, no? And still Malfoy wittered on. That feeling of rejection haunted him; was he unfit for the company of others? Harry had to clamp his lips together to stop himself from yelling, '_Yes_! Yes, you are!' And then he looked about the room. They were having a great laugh, play acting and talking self-pitying bollocks. Were they just going to let Malfoy join in after the trouble he'd caused?

"Boo hoo, Malfoy." Snapped Millicent, "Shame you didn't learn back then that being a vicious little shit only gets you in trouble."

Nope. Malfoy was still very much in disgrace. Brilliant!

The Platinum Pillock scowled and retreated as Harry smugly took centre stage. His turn, and he had a doozy.

"They're all awful …"

He said in recognition of past traumatic events suffered by various Snakes, such as Lara Templeman never being picked to write the date on the blackboard, _or_ hand out a set of class books. The kitchen elves never serving Hugo Van Den Berg's fifth favourite pudding 'because I'm a Slytherin!' Sybil Trelawney expecting Pucey to read inferior tea leaves, and not his preferred Lapsang Souchong - because he was a Slytherin, naturally.

"… but none of you has ever been thrown out of your own house. I mean, I'm only here because no one wants me; I'm not good enough to go anywhere, apparently. One mistake and McGonagall gives me the flick. I'm an orphan. I was dumped on a family that's never wanted me. Some arsehole entered me into the Triwizard Tournament, probably trying to kill me … might still happen. I thought I'd found a home in Gryffindor, but I made one stuff up, and my great head of house boots me out! Oh, and nearly all my old friends have turned against me."

Envy swirled around that common room so thick and fast, you'd have needed a shovel to dig your way through to the entrance door.

"Alright, Potter." Said AB, "You've won the 'Pity Party Prize'; no one here can compete with that!"

**oOo**

Minerva almost toppled off the footstool; she needed Snape's arm around her to get back inside his rooms.

"_Oh, Severus_!" She wailed before collapsing into his armchair.

He extended his usual level of sympathy.

"Merlin's sake, old woman! They were joking. He doesn't mean that at all!"

"I _know_! I've been teaching youngsters since before you were born. I _do_ know how they talk!"

"Then what's the problem?!"

"He's so happy! Look at him!"

Then out it came in torrents. She'd hated every second of that Sunday night in early November. Trotting down to the dungeons so briskly with a shell-shocked Harry in tow; she'd had to do it quickly else she'd have crumbled, defied Albus and whisked him back to Gryffindor. But oh, how it shamed her to admit the following; every single day since, she'd scanned the Slytherin table at meal times. And every day her heart sank a little lower at how content and secure the boy seemed.

"He's happy with your Snakes, with _all_ of them, even Malfoy more often than not. I watch them, chatting, laughing and playing the fool; I never would've imagined it. You're better at this than I am, Severus - and you have no idea how much I resent you for it."

For the record, he did contemplate preening.

"I'm sure Mr Potter could be prevailed upon to gripe about my treatment of him."

She seized on that.

"How so? Have you mistreated him?"

"I've treated him exactly the same as the rest of my Snakes."

"You've thrashed him!" She accused.

"I never discuss student punishments, and I doubt Potter would thank you for raising the topic. But aren't you being a little disingenuous considering the times you've hauled students down to my office? How do imagine I dealt with them? Do you think I took points?"

"That's different. They're Slytherins."

His eyes narrowed.

"Oh, don't start that." She said, "You know what I mean; Harry's special."

The black eyes went narrower still.

"But he _is_ special! You can't deny that!"

"No." Snape replied. "The task he has been given is special. The boy is like any other."

"How can you say that?!"

"Because to say anything else is cruel."

That stopped her. She looked at him in perfect puzzlement.

"Think about the life he's had … perpetually singled out. First by being bullied and neglected at home, and then catapulted to the opposite extreme here."

"How so?"

"The boy is fêted each and every time he breaks school rules and goes meddling!"

This was going nowhere. The conversation had been had a thousand times before, and they both knew it. Severus wound it to a close with his oft-repeated plea.

"Let him be part of something; be treated no differently to anyone else. It's what he wants and needs …"

"How do you know?" She snapped.

"It's what all outsiders want."

She nodded her head; Snape had her there. He watched as her lips moved without sound, and knew her real reason for visiting was trying to get out.

"What did you really come down here for?"

"To see if Potter's alright, of course."

No, it wasn't. She knew that an hour ago.

"Go and stand in the corner until you're ready to talk properly!"

Minerva gave a sad, little laugh at that.

"And before you ask, yes, I have put Potter in the corner."

Another sad laugh. It's coming, thought Snape.

"And I'm sure he deserved it; he can be a handful!"

Almost there.

"Oh, Severus! Does Albus not trust me anymore? Am I of no use to Lily and James' child? I couldn't bear it if I were to be kept from him. Why doesn't Albus need me any more?"

"He never has, Minerva. That's the reason he made you his deputy." Snape said with a roll of his eyes.

Too harsh, he realised. His friend looked sad, old, and worn. His slender fingers reached for her hand and squeezed. She looked up at him.

"Then why insist that Harry stays here with you?"

This was Snape's moment to reach out. Such a hard thing to do! How much easier to shrug his shoulders, and claim to be as baffled as she? But he wouldn't do that to Minerva, not over a matter that meant so much to her. In any case, he couldn't. He needed to reveal his thoughts in order to gain what he wanted.

"What do we do if you-know-who comes back?" He asked.

If she'd felt any annoyance at the lack of a direct answer, it dissipated quickly with his chosen subject matter.

"Why ask that?! Is that what you've been discussing with Albus? What do you know?"

"I'm as much in the dark as you." He lied.

Perhaps she was thinking she didn't believe him, or maybe she was just giving due diligence to the question. Either way, she thought a long time.

"We fight. The staff and the students fight as one, and we help Harry Potter as much as we can."

"The staff and Potter with the students at our backs?"

"What else can we do?" She asked.

"And if there are Slytherins at Potter's back? How do you feel about that?"

It was a brutal question to conjure out of nowhere, and she struggled.

"I would never … I couldn't … It's … it's not _them_; it's their parents. You of all people know that. You _know_ what they are!"

"Exactly. The children of the damned are doubly damned …"

"I … I …" But Minerva had no words.

"What if they want to fight against The Dark Lord? How does the child of Death Eaters go against its parents?"

"I don't know." She answered quietly and sadly.

He lit two cigarettes, and this time she took one without raising an objection to smoking indoors. They puffed in silence - almost clean through to the filter. And then he finally answered her question.

"Albus trusts you, as I believe he trusts me. Listen to me, Minerva. I'm not helping Albus, or you, or Potter for that matter, by taking him in until the tournament is over. Potter is helping Slytherin …"

Snape watched Minerva's expression change from despair to suspicion mingled with the beginnings of anger. Plough on regardless, he told himself, and trust to her honour.

"Minerva … Potter isn't enough. I need _you_."

**oOo**

Not such a bad morning after all, decided Harry as he placed the last pile of folios into the old walnut chest. Goyle was supposed to be helping him categorize the parchments by subject matter, but he'd gibbered at the dense script and Harry had taken pity on him. Well, what he'd actually done was hand Goyle some blank parchment and suggest he needed a bit of spitball practice with the catapult Snape had only recently handed back. But Goyle had to be realistic, Harry advised. After all, Snape had confiscated that catapult for a good while. Goyle needed an easy target to get his skills back up, say a target with a mop of shocking platinum hair on top of it? Even Goyle took that hint. Malfoy was pelted continuously for nearly an hour, and couldn't say a word because he'd pissed everyone off. Win, thought Harry.

He lowered the lid, and supposed he should put the chest back in its spot. Bloody hell, it was heavy. Goyle had dragged it out, but he'd left the common room, and Harry wasn't sure he could shift it. So instead he sat on it, hot and dusty, and thought of the other wins that had come his way. He was back in Slytherin. Win. He'd managed to break a ton of rules - _and_ evade a walloping. Win. He'd wormed his way back into the Slytherin fold. Win. Plus he realised he'd never forfeited their affection. Win. Of course there were drawbacks; he'd inadvertently given Crabbe carte blanche to fart right next to him, and he'd sounded a bit weird and freaky raving about how cool, and great, and brilliant the Snakes were. Once Malfoy was out of the doghouse, Harry knew he wasn't going to let up about that. Come to think of it, the rest of them would rib him mercilessly, too. But all in all, the wins were in the ascendant. And added to those wins came another; he was getting his very own entry in the _Slytherin Bible_ \- as owner of the arse given the highest number of whacks ever by Snape's slipper. Of course it was a lie, so did it count as a win? Harry mulled it over, and with a bit of Slytherin pragmatism, decided that one was a mega win.

"Hurry up, Potter. Lunch in five minutes." Said AB.

The words snapped Harry out of his evaluation of the morning.

"You still have to move that folio chest back over to the bookshelves."

Once the title fight for _The_ _Most Terminally Aggrieved Soul in Slytherin_ had been fought and won, the Snakes had got back to the task Snape had set them: ensure every square inch of the common room was wiped, dusted, and scrupulously polished - or else. It had officially been added punishment for the unauthorised game of Sardines, but the older students knew what their housemaster was about. It was his way of ensuring the house stayed together, told Malfoy what they thought of his mean-spirited antics, and welcomed Potter back.

Harry gave up trying to drag the chest, and decided to push instead. Still wouldn't budge, the carpet was too thick. He looked around for help, but the rest of the Snakes had gone to lunch. Only AB remained.

"Could you?" Asked Harry.

With a mighty effort, the pair shoved it back into position. Harry stood, perspiring, and yanked off his jumper before taking in the sight of the ultra-pristine common room.

"Even Snape couldn't find anything to complain about in here, could he?" He asked.

But he got no reply. AB had stooped to pick up the note that had fallen from Harry's jumper.

"Oh, my fuck-a-doo! Do you have _any_ idea what you have here, Potter?! When Snape finds out, you're dead!"


	9. How To Become Head Prefect

**A/N 1: **Many thanks to Guests, Fan and Hamlet!

**A/N 2: **An Italian guest! Grazie mille per il vostro sostegno!

**A/N 3: **This chapter is a long one, but I hope you enjoy it.

**Chapter 9: How to Become Head Prefect**

The lunchtime exodus saw two remain in the dungeons.

"I need to think on this." AB had told Harry.

He'd placed the note in his breast pocket, patted it and marched out of the common room. As fond as Harry was of the head prefect, he couldn't help thinking he was making a meal of it. Who cares about an old, forgotten note? Harry had at least two dozen festering at the bottom of his satchel - along with a fine collection of desiccated tangerine peel, used tissues, and mouldy half-eaten sandwiches. And as to AB's verdict of 'you're dead' when - no _if_, Harry corrected himself - Snape miraculously discovered one note out of many had gone astray, then what of it? Snape did his nut if someone didn't pair their socks properly when sending them to the laundry. The names of malefactors The Git listed at each morning inspection bore witness to the fact that he did his nut over trifling offences. Snape not doing his nut simply wasn't Snape. Definite overreaction. Harry put his jumper back on, and hotfooted it to lunch.

The second person still in the dungeons did not believe his companion had overreacted; he could see her point entirely.

"Do you mean to tell me that a child most likely maliciously entered into The Triwizard Tournament - for reasons we know not - has been kept down here to rehabilitate your house?! All this fine talk of protecting him and that brave, wee soul is being tricked into befriending your Snakes?! I can scarcely credit it! You've never had any regard for the rest of Hogwarts, Severus, but your cynicism has reached new heights. How could you put him at such risk?!"

He happened not to agree with Minerva, though that didn't make it an unfair assessment. And on some points, she was right. He didn't hold the other houses in much regard. Completely unfair of him, but there it was. And his aim was to rehabilitate his nest of vipers. He felt no shame at that accusation. He was their housemaster; what else was he to do? Bumble around like Slughorn had, averting his gaze from anything unpleasant? But her charge that Potter was at risk in Slytherin did sting him; that assessment was predicated on his Snakes acting malevolently, and Severus knew that to be unfair and untrue.

But he wouldn't argue with her; the swaying of Minerva was a work in progress. So he sat back, and allowed her to vent more spleen, which she did. Quite a lot, in fact. He'd stick to his plan of trusting to her honour. She was, after all, perhaps the most honourable of all the Hogwarts' professors. That didn't mean she didn't have a temper. She would rant, curse, and rave, but eventually she would calm and listen to him. This was merely a necessary stage along the way, and the more she maligned him now, the more contrite and willing to listen she'd be later. And she'd need to be a willing listener, for Severus hadn't even begun to set out his stall. He had so much more to ask of her.

But this philosophical outlook wouldn't last; he knew that. As he listened to Minerva's staccato steps sound down the corridor, he knew he'd miss the old trout while she was busy loathing him. Who else did he have? He respected Albus, but he was no friend. Charity Burbage went on field trips into Muggledom during the holidays; Poppy nagged him endlessly about his smoking, and Pomona drove him insane. Sinistra had gone to observe the Northern Lights while Flitwick, he knew, was busy writing his magnum opus on great duellers of the goblin race. Severus was avoiding him at all costs - terrified he might be asked to proofread. Bollocks, it was just him and his fucking Snakes. The awful memory surfaced of turning down Polly Pinkerton's saucy invitation on Easter Sunday. Merlin, what a waste! No, he'd have to get out. If he didn't, he'd end up Crucio-ing one of his students - or possibly himself. And talking of his students, they'd best be on their best behaviour; the slightest slip could see Minerva using it with Albus to force Potter's return. Just his luck that this happened in the middle of the Easter hols when lack of structure led to boredom and mischief. He groaned at the thought of returning to his authoritarian ways of yore. Hope it doesn't happen, but prepare to be despised by your Snakes once more, he told himself as he strode off to lunch.

**oOo**

Lunch was the usual cacophonous affair. The Slytherins were all seated when Harry arrived, but Alicia waved him over to sit between herself and Timothy Morcott. Tory Greengrass, opposite, gave a little snigger as he sat down, leant over, and tapped Alicia's arm,

"Worth waiting for?!" She asked.

"Shut it!" Snapped Alicia, before turning a sweet smile on Harry.

"Meant to ask, Lissy; how are things with you and your horrible relative?"

"Which one? _Oh_! Aunt Dolores, you mean?"

"Dunno her name. The one that sent you this."

He gave a tug on her powder pink twin set.

"Yeah, Aunt Dolores … mum's sister. Alright, I suppose - though I'm in for it next holidays. She sent me a pink, tweed cape to wear with this - imagine that! I gave it to Mrs Norris to sleep on. She loves it, so at least someone's happy!"

What did 'in for it' mean? Harry shuddered to think. Should he ask? Maybe not at the lunch table.

"She'll never find out." He assured her.

"She will." Alicia replied darkly, and then shook her head as if shaking off the gloom like a dog shakes off water. "Anyway! We're all glad you're back, Harry. And we're all really glad Professor Snape caned Malfoy! I saw him limping out of the study; it was a picture!"

"Alicia!" Scolded Sophie, "Once someone's punished, that's an end to it."

"Whimpering and sniffling, he was!"

"Shut up, Alicia!" Snarled Malfoy

Surprisingly, Harry found he didn't enjoy hearing those details. He whipped off his glasses and concentrated on energetically huffing onto the lenses and polishing furiously. It didn't work; she was now loudly impersonating Malfoy's sighs and moans after Snape had had at him. Then Harry did something he regretted. He held up his glasses to check for smudges and saw The Prat's face magnified. Up close, the haughtiness dissolved and he saw fear and sadness. Bugger! The last thing he wanted at this moment was to feel sympathy for Draco sodding Malfoy.

"It's all his fault we had to clean the common room this morning…" Continued Alicia.

"That's enough, Alicia. One more word, and I'm giving you a note." Threatened Sophie.

"Prissy knickers …" Huffed Alicia.

Sophie pretended not to hear it, but Astoria obviously did. She leant over the table again and started shushing Alicia. The very next second, everyone saw why. A curtain of black Russell cord draped across Alicia's left arm, as the hand that protruded from it expertly located her ear. Snape gave the earlobe a twist, and had her on her feet in no time.

"Are you unconvinced that Mr Malfoy has been punished sufficiently? Perhaps I should give you a taste of it, and you can judge for yourself if it was rigorous enough?"

"Sorry, sir. Sorry, Malfoy."

He gave a downwards yank on her ear that forced her back onto the bench, and strode off to high table. People were leaning into the middle from both ends of the table to try and see what Snape had been murmuring about, but they didn't learn much. All they could see was a group of silent Snakes, two of whom were blushing uncomfortably. Sod this, thought Harry. The pity party in the common room had been fun, but it was mortifying for him to be at the epicentre of such drama.

"I'm not bothered by what Malfoy did at all. It was probably just a joke I took the wrong way - me being a berk! The only thing I am bothered about is missing out on that game of Sardines. I bet it was brilliant!"

"It was!" Cried Alicia, "Let's have another one for Harry!"

"With the mood Snape's in?!" Asked Millicent incredulously, "No chance!"

"But Harry missed out!" Alicia implored.

"Oh, Harry, Harry, Harry! He's all you ever talk about - and we all know why!" Declared Astoria, with a bit of spite.

_Really_? Just my luck, thought Harry. The only female in the school to harbour any romantic feelings for him was a four foot five rabble-rouser. He looked down at her and realised a fraction too late what she was up to.

Who likes getting their crushes revealed in public? She flicked a spoonful of rhubarb crumble at Astoria. Astoria prepared to wail, but Malfoy clamped his hand over her mouth lest Snape hear. Astoria bit it; Malfoy whacked her. Then Hugo declared his undying love for Harry, who in turn twittered,

"Right back at you, Hugo!"

The love fest he'd begun earlier that morning sprang back into life, and soon became the usual hotchpotch of digs and banter. Such fun that they didn't notice their glowering overlord had an empty seat next to him up on high table. His usual companion had relocated to the opposite end to sit with Pomona and Grubbly-Plank. But someone noticed …

Well, she would notice it. Partly because she was the type of person that did notice things, and partly because the only conversations on offer were Neville's recounting of Gran's latest owl, Ron and Seamus' dream line up for the Chudley Cannons, and the excruciating one now taking place between Parvati and Lavender.

"You don't look well." Parvati observed.

"Of course I don't! I'm starving!" Replied Lavender.

"Did you manage to eat any lunch?"

"Couldn't eat a thing."

Hermione didn't need to listen; she knew what was coming. The elves had served up every possible item known to cause bad breath: onions, tuna linguini made with garlic, and a surfeit of dairy products. Yes, her dental care gift basket wasn't forgotten, and most definitely not forgiven. The second lunch was over, she determined to nab her copy of _Hogwarts: A History_ and go and read it in seclusion. Some joyful ruckus on the Slytherin table made her look over, but in doing so she felt impossibly lonely, and turned her head to see McGonagall, out of her habitual seat, throw a glare down the long high table at Snape. Hermione watched all, dallied over her rhubarb crumble, and ran the last two days' chronology of events through her head.

Ron elbowed her.

"You gonna eat that?"

"I really don't think so." She murmured.

Though it wasn't to Ron she'd said it. He didn't care; he slid her bowl over and got stuck in. What she didn't think was that McGonagall's seating choice was coincidental. Life regularly threw up odd moments. However, there came a point when 'peak odd' was reached, and things became a pattern. She knew last night that Harry had had a spat with Malfoy, but why would Snape get involved with that? And McGonagall also? No. It hadn't just been a slanging match gone overboard. McGonagall never paid attention to teenage troubles, and from Harry's reports, Snape was more likely to give feuding students a clip round the ear and a very sensible early bedtime than buy into the feud. There was more; she knew there was more.

**oOo**

She timed her exit to coincide with Harry, and snagged his wrist to pull him behind one of the huge doors.

"Something's going on!" She whispered.

"Yeah, you've had Hermione miserable all lunch. What's going on now?"

Oh, no. Ron had followed.

"Nothing!" Blustered Harry.

"It's been nearly two months since the Second Task. He's having acute drama withdrawal symptoms!"

Oh, bloody Seamus! He'd traipsed along after Ron. Of course he had, and most likely brought Dean with him. Ah yes, there he was.

"A ha … ha ha ha … a ha ha ha … Sorry Seamus, I can only give you a three out of ten for that one. Way too predictable."

"He's got a point, mate." Ron said to Seamus.

"Knobhead!" Shouted Dean at Harry.

"Oh, now you're not even trying." Admonished Harry.

"Go _away_!" Shouted Hermione, giving a shove to Ron and Dean.

"What's happened?" She demanded as Ron shuffled off muttering.

"Nothing! Just got in a bit of trouble with Snape last night, that's all."

_Shit_! Why couldn't he think faster? Why did he say last night? She'd know that was a lie; she knew Snape was with the Delingpoles 'til late.

"No, you didn't … Oh, what do _you_ want?!" Hermione cried in exasperation.

Harry's head spun round to see Malfoy.

"We'll talk later."

Said like a threatening headmistress, the only thing missing was the 'young man' at the end. Hermione flounced off to get her book and spend time on her own.

"What are you going to tell her? She won't give up 'til you tell her something."

Harry thought he detected a tinge of admiration in Malfoy's words rather than his customary sneer. But he had no idea what he was going to tell her, so he simply shrugged and hoped Malfoy would sod off. He wasn't ready to broach a rapprochement with The Prat just yet. What was he supposed to say? The more distant Malfoy's vicious whispering campaign became, the sillier Harry felt about how he'd reacted.

"Do you want something?" He asked.

"I … umm …"

Malfoy did a quick scan of the room, saw everyone else had left, and sidled over to a bench where he threw himself down. Something about it nagged at Harry, then he copped to what it was.

"Six of the best from Snape, and you plonk down like that?! No way did you get caned!"

"I did!"

No he didn't, so what was going on?

"You didn't have to say what you did at lunch, but it helped." Said Malfoy.

"I did have to say it; I don't want everyone thinking I was going to run away because of you!"

"You were though, weren't you?!"

"Nope." Said Harry.

"_Liar_!"

"Is this your way of saying thanks?" Asked Harry.

"No!"

"_Liar_!"

"Right then." Said Malfoy, rising from the bench. "I'll see you later."

"In the common room?"

"Well, you're still in Slytherin. My plan didn't work, remember?"

"_Knobhead_!"

Malfoy laughed, and annoyingly for Harry, so did he.

**oOo**

Harry sat on the front steps.

"Are you waiting for the cogipluffs to come down in the raindrops, too?"

Harry liked Luna Lovegood, but he'd come out here to think. He couldn't do that _and_ figure out what she was on about.

"Just came to check on the weather, really. Don't see it in the dungeons."

"The sun was out all morning; the cogipluffs weren't ready to fall. They're on their way now, though."

She pointed up at the dove grey nimbostratus rolling in from the west. Yeah that'd be right, thought Harry. Snape has them cooped up in the common room when the weather's good, and lets them out to get sodding soaked. At least he assumed they'd been let out … maybe they were all down there wondering where he'd run off to now? Malfoy was probably telling them he'd seen Harry legging it to Hogsmeade. Snape would go mental.

"I need to go!"

"It's okay, Harry. Cogipluffs drown out other people; they can't annoy you. Here, this will help even more."

She tied some scarlet and saffron plaited cotton around his wrist, and wandered onto the gravel driveway, her ivory face turned up to greet the rain _and_, Harry assumed, the visiting cogipluffs. Bugger it, she wasn't annoying at all; he was staying put.

He shuffled forward at the first heavy drops, got wet, and went back under the canopy. Fingering the cotton bracelet, his brain began to kick into gear. Hermione was too smart; she was bound to figure out what had happened. Then she'd give him a bollocking for hiding his upset, and probably go and tackle Malfoy. He'd feel like a seven-year-old watching his mum tell off the bully who'd stolen his pocket money. And after all that, he'd be left with an unhappy Hermione, who couldn't understand why he hadn't just levelled with her and told her the problem. He wouldn't know what to say because how do you tell your best friend you're happier in a different house than her? But she deserved the truth - however painful that was going to be in the telling. He settled on a person for Snape's punishment. The Git had ordered him to make reparations with one person he'd wronged, and Hermione was going to be it. Didn't have a bloody clue what he was going to do, but he'd think of something.

What about Malfoy? Yeah well, what about him? If the past few days had taught Harry anything, it was that he needed to stop being a berk and try to learn from what had happened. So what did he know? He had a fair idea that Malfoy would always be a shit, but then Cormac McLaggen was a shit too, so what did that prove? Malfoy was terrified of Death Eaters. All that stuff about Ezra Vickery; his whole childhood spent watching creepy types turn up to meet with his father. And what about his father? Malfoy seemed to loathe and worship him in equal measure. Harry realised he didn't have it in him to hate Draco. What was that line Millicent had been banging on about when the book club read _King Lear_? That was it: '_more sinned against than sinning._' Summed up The Prat to a tee, Harry reckoned.

This was the holidays, and he'd wasted enough time getting sad. Time to get back to the dungeons! He was going to have a laugh with Millicent, tell her how pleasantly plump and feminine she was looking; be kind to Alicia; find Crabbe and fart next to him, and try to sweet-talk Pucey and Latimer into organising another game of Sardines. Then he dug a bit deeper, and resolved to be appreciative of Snape, and let bygones be bygones with the Platinum Ponce.

"Thanks for tipping me off about the cogipluffs, Luna, and this bracelet thingy really worked! What's it called, by the way?"

"It's called a bracelet, Harry, and you're welcome."

He smiled as she continued dancing in the rain. One twirl later and she stopped.

"Don't forget to look backwards, Harry Potter. You see everything ahead of you much better if you look backwards."

Yeah, Luna was alright. Still barking, though.

**oOo**

"Where've you been, Potter? I've been looking for you!"

"Oh, God! Snape doesn't think I've run away to Hogsmeade, does he? Is he looking for me, too?"

"No, and no. But we need to have a talk." AB pulled Harry in close, and whispered in his ear, "Take me to one of your hiding spots."

"Why?" Harry whispered back.

"It's a private talk … very private."

Where to take him? It would've been easy to slink off to his second floor alcove, but that was Harry's insurance policy when and if the shit really hit the fan. The linen press next to the kitchens? No, any of the fourth years could be in there. What about Archie's curtains by the main door? A good place for hiding, but not so for a talk. He wasn't going back to the stinky book room. That place was putrid. What about … oh yes, that was the perfect place.

**oOo**

He'd only been there once; that cold, dark evening in January when Hermione had revealed she'd been doing investigations into Archie Delingpole's parents and the Mirror of Merlin. He wasn't certain he knew the way, but to his surprise, he succeeded in retracing their steps.

"The old belfry? I'm impressed." Said AB, "No wonder we had trouble tracking you down this morning."

They climbed the stone steps, and entered the hexagonal room. The two makeshift chairs of hessian sacks and church kneelers were still there from before. AB noticed.

"You entertain up here? I'm even more impressed, or should I be shocked?!" Winked AB.

"Came up with Hermione once."

"Ah! 'The Gift that Slytherin Missed'."

"What?"

"That's what Snape calls her."

"Really? He's always mean to her, well nearly always."

"Don't be fooled. If you drive Snape potty, you're doing something right. Anyone else he just ignores."

Harry couldn't wait to tell Neville that Snape was his number one fan. He was imagining his reaction when AB started talking.

"Remember that time you were in the hospital wing?"

"Which one?"

"Yes, it is a bit like that with you, isn't it? The time you had 'flu, and Snape sent you the Ice Mice."

"Oh, yeah. You all came to visit me."

"That's right. We all came to visit because we were completely indifferent about whether you were in Slytherin, or not."

_Ouch_. That was a Snape remark. Where was warm, affectionate AB? Hang on; had The Git used Polyjuice? It was really AB, wasn't it?

"Sorry."

"No, I'm sorry. You made your apologies to the house - and very effusively, too! Just try and remember that Snape is a man of limited patience at the best of times. Don't test him; he rises to the occasion, believe me."

"Like me staying out all night, you mean?"

"He's not angry if people are genuinely upset. Well, not for long anyway. But he'd be beyond furious if he knew about this."

AB had pulled out the note.

"Millicent mentioned 'The Great Chase'; do you remember? They wanted me to tell you about it, but I didn't. I should have done; it would have saved a lot of bother. Mind you, I couldn't have told you with them there. They don't know the whole story, and they mustn't - not until it's all over."

AB stopped speaking, and Harry wondered what he was going on about. He was being all vague and … what was the word? Enigmatic, that was it. Vague and enigmatic, just like Snape was whenever he had one of his chats. Harry wasn't too keen on people being enigmatic. It made him feel thick. Then the head prefect turned, and grasped his knees - another Snape move.

"Shall I tell you? _Shall_ I?"

_Yes_, and it had better be good after this bloody performance, thought Harry. The next moment his glasses had slipped down his nose, and the chocolate brown eyes of AB were looking at him so keenly, Harry felt like they were in his head right alongside all his thoughts and memories.

"Yes, I think I will tell you."

Though he didn't yet know what it was, Harry felt relief at those words. AB continued.

"They all laugh about it, the 'Great Chase', like it was some hi-jinks gone wrong. Mind you, it was in a way. Seems like a lifetime ago now, but it was only two years. I was in the fifth, and a group of us weren't doing that well in Arithmancy. We had OWLs coming up, so Snape was giving us some tutoring in his study. He was called away and we just got on with the work - until Urquhart decided he needed a drink. He was a bit scared of going into Snape's quarters by himself, so he dragged me along with him."

Harry remembered the rigmarole of Snape unlocking the door to his rooms, and wondered how Urquhart and AB had got in.

"Patience, Potter. My tale will reveal all."

**oOo**

**Late spring, 1993**

The simple making of coffee in their housemaster's kitchen emboldened the two boys further. AB threw himself down on Snape's sofa, and got into part.

"Get me another coffee, Urquhart! And make it the way Miss Polly Pinkerton does, a quart of Scotch added, or I'll thrash the living daylights out of you!"

"Right away, sir!"

He did, too. Not quite a quart, but a hefty slosh nonetheless. They forced themselves to gulp it down, and like any fifteen-year-olds, lied and insisted it was 'a fine drop'. The 'fine drop' had them giggling and mucking about in no time. Urquhart donned a spare robe of Snape's, nipped back into the study, and made disdainful comments about Sophie and Marcus' work. "Snape's gonna flip!" Sophie warned him. "Bugger off!" Snarled Marcus. He'd been slippered the day before, and didn't want to get caught up in their shenanigans.

Urquhart did bugger off - alas only as far as Snape's bookshelves to join AB, who was engrossed in a stack of loose-leaved notes.

"I can hear him in his office; he'll be here any moment!" Sophie hissed through the doorway.

The robes were doffed and hung up. AB dithered and couldn't be sure which shelf he'd pulled the notes from. Cups and Scotch bottle were hidden under the sink, and both boys were back puzzling over Arithmancy problems in a flash.

It was just a bit of fun, blowing off steam what with all the revision for OWLs. And when Snape released them from his study, they thought they'd got away with it - until he roared down the corridor demanding to know who'd been in his rooms. The roar was loud enough to bring out all the Snakes from the common room, and the answer to Snape's question was obvious to all, as first AB then Urquhart bolted.

"Why are we running? He'll catch us." Panted Urquhart, as they legged it up the stairs.

"I know!" Panted AB.

"So why?"

"Gotta get rid of these first."

He pulled aside his blazer to reveal the sheaf of notes he'd taken from the bookshelf.

"You fuckwit!"

"I know!"

The thunder of Snape's feet followed by smaller Snake feet sounded behind them. It induced panic in AB, but inspiration in Urquhart.

"Paperchase!" He yelled, tearing up his Arithmancy notes as he ran and scattering them behind him.

The younger Snakes were always up for some action, and soon overtook Snape as he stooped to examine the tossed paper. AB and Urquhart rounded the corner of the staircase, and saw the mass of lower school students blocking the stairs. Snape couldn't get past. Then first-year Harriett Walsh took a tumble - forcing her housemaster to pick her up and dust her off. They'd gained a valuable lead and tore off to the upper reaches of the castle. Somewhere near the Astrology rooms, AB looked back and saw a trail of paper.

"Why are you still laying the trail?! You're leading them straight to us!" He shrieked.

"_Shit_! I _am_!"

Urquhart jettisoned the rest of his notes. They raced down the southern stairs, and found a cupboard in a disused alchemy classroom. Panting, they crept inside. Around thirty seconds later, the cupboard door opened of its own accord. Wide-eyed and ashen-faced, they slowly looked up fully expecting to see a fuming Severus Snape. He wasn't there. Next, AB's jacket pulled itself open, and the sheaf of notes extricated themselves from his inner pocket. They looked up again. He wasn't there. The notes sailed across the room towards the doorway. He wasn't there … but a second later, long, slender fingers snatched at the notes, and he was there.

It wasn't until the other Snakes had caught up that Snape spoke. And when he did, he was very soft, very quiet, and incandescent with rage.

"I think, perhaps, you'd better all return to the dungeons. On the steps."

The first-years had no idea what their housemaster meant, but the others did. The Paperchase was about to come to its dismal, and most probably inevitable, conclusion.

"Stay where you are, Mr Armitage Brown; I'll take Mr Urquhart first."

Urquhart soon returned to the cupboard, looking bemused and slightly befuddled. Twenty seconds, later AB stood before the penetrating gaze of Snape and understood why. It wasn't a painful sensation, but it was odd. It felt like gentle fingers penetrating his skull, softly kneading the contents of his memory.

"You've said nothing to Urquhart of what you saw on these papers. That should be a small comfort to him. I'm going to tell you what took place this afternoon, and that is the version you will tell others. Do you understand?"

That was the fun part of their little escapade. Soon after, Snape briskly shepherded the miscreants to stand in front of the dungeon steps while he slowly removed his coat and loosened his right shirt cuff. He made an even bigger performance of rolling up the cuff until it sat at his right elbow, and then he addressed the unwilling audience.

"As you are aware, my normal practice is to discipline you in private when you've fallen below the mark. However, there are times when students fall so spectacularly low that their punishment is a fitting lesson for all. These boys have betrayed my trust and stolen exam questions from my private bookshelf. They were caught red-handed, and the farce you all partook in was their lamentable attempt to dispose of the evidence. I'm certain that there are cretins amongst you that will think theirs a laudable act. You know who you are, and more importantly, I know who you are. Watch the consequences these boys have reaped, and know this: anyone else trying it will get an extra six."

The arrayed Slytherins winced their way through each of Urquhart's half dozen of the slipper, and could only look on in pity as AB was summoned and given the order to bend over the sofa arm. He was dreading his six; Snape was laying them on way harder than usual. But as numbers seven to twelve landed, he realised the initial six were the least of his worries.

Rising slowly from the sofa arm, Snape pulled him close,

"My study. Seven o'clock. We need to talk." He murmured.

oOo

"_Twelve_?!"

"Twelve." Confirmed AB. "Which is how I know Snape didn't give you fourteen this morning. I was still snivelling when I went to see him after supper."

Harry felt daft; why had he said fourteen? Then he felt pathetic. He saw his chance at an entry in _The Slytherin Bible_ for current slippering record holder go glimmering.

"But my entry in _The Slytherin Bible_ …" He whimpered.

"Don't worry, I can keep a secret. Eternal Slytherin glory is still yours! In any case, there are plenty of embroidered tales in that book, particularly the chapters Malfoy and Pansy have edited. _The Bible_ is equal parts student resource, cautionary tale, house history, and self-aggrandisement, after all."

"Great. But hold on a mo', why did you have to see him after supper?"

"He knew what I knew."

"You sound like him again, talking in riddles."

AB laughed, then quickly grew serious.

"I know you didn't understand the contents of that note, so I'm giving you a choice, Potter. Do you want me to tell you what I knew?"

"_Yes_!"

"Are you sure? You can never _un_know something … Damn it! I hope to Merlin I'm doing the right thing …"

The Head Prefect took a deep breath, and Harry half-considered backing out. But, come on, he was way too nosy for that!

"Don't ask me why when there are pensieves available, but those notes are Snape's most secret plans. I don't believe another living soul knows about them - us excepted, obviously. You see, I realised something that night in his study: the depth of his regard for his Snakes. Of course, you know about some of the parents?"

"Death Eaters, you mean?"

"Well, Snape keeps track of everything: who's wavered in their commitment; who still holds true. There's not a current house member that wants to join the Death Eaters; I _know_. But how could they go against their parents if they ever have it demanded of them? Elsa? She's afraid of her own shadow. Even little firebrand Alicia wouldn't have a hope. So Snape has developed the most audacious insurance policy ever."

"What?"

"No. That's enough for now. But know this; if the Death Eaters ever rise again, no Slytherin students will be fighting with them."

Majorly short on details, but big on impact. Harry felt like a steel rod had been removed from his back. He'd thought he loved it in Slytherin before, but it had been there, that nagging doubt: _take care_ … _Slytherin's a dark house_. Now he let his relaxed body ooze any way it liked over the hessian sacks and velvet kneelers. A few moments of luxurious quiet, and then a question bloomed in his brain.

"If you did all that, almost stuffed up his secret plan I mean, then how come you ended up being Head Prefect?"

"Snape abides by the old rule: keep your friends close, and your enemies closer. Not that I'm his enemy; far from it, I'd follow him anywhere. But I'd read a lot more of the notes than you had, or maybe I just understood more having been in Slytherin for five years. Whichever it was, I'd got the gist of his plan. He couldn't just leave things like that. He did contemplate expelling me, but what good would that do? He'd have absolutely no control of me then. So he drew me close; made me a prefect the next year. My fate is linked to his, and you know what? I wouldn't have it any other way. Still, it does leave us in rather a pickle …"

AB's next words had Harry on his feet, pacing and almost wetting himself.

"What do you think Snape's going to do when he finds out you took one of his notes?"

"_Shitting hell_! He's gonna sodding murder me! What am I gonna do?!"

"What are _we_ going to do." Corrected AB.

"_I'm_ the one that took it; I'm the one he's gonna murder!"

"Hmm."

"_What_?! What does 'hmm' bloody mean?!"

"It means I was right to reveal what I did. You see, I'm implicated now. Which means we'll puzzle this out together. It's your insurance policy that you won't be left to deal with it alone, and it's my insurance policy that you won't go off on one of your hare-brained schemes and bollocks everything up."

AB stared hard at the gibbering wreck in front of him.

"_Potter_! Do you understand?"

Harry leapt. AB really had morphed into Snape Mark II.

"We'll meet with the rest of the prefects, and we'll get through this." Said AB, throwing his arm around Harry and giving a tight squeeze. Yeah well, maybe not quite Snape Mark II.

**oOo**

As the pair stepped out of the belfry, Hermione Granger stood up and shook the hessian sacks and all their accumulated dust from herself. She'd known at lunch that something was up, but now she was certain. It was murky, no doubt risky, and so tantalisingly obscure she could make neither head nor tail of it. All the same, she knew three things: whatever the plan was, it was good and had to succeed; she had faith in Severus Snape. And she was right; he was a good man: Harry had to stay in Slytherin, however much she and Ron would miss him.

She gave them a head start, then trod carefully down the steps. Without a doubt she was heading back to more snipes about oral hygiene, and yet another permutation of the fantasy Chudley Cannons Dream Team. But she didn't care; she was 'The Gift that Slytherin Missed'!


	10. The Prefects' Room

**A/N 1: **Thanks to Hamlet (my lips are sealed on the note!), and Fan, and guests - greatly appreciated!

**A/N 2:** Part of this harks back to _The Lone Wolf_ (Ch.5), when Harry's chatting with Hermione. Hope you enjoy it!

**Chapter 10: The Prefects' Room**

**Slytherin corridor**

"Push off, squirt!"

"But what's going on? Where are you are going? Why's it just the fourth-years?"

Goyle grasped the obstacle in his path under her armpits, swung her in the opposite direction, and sent her back to the common room with a delicate boot to her backside. She objected.

"I'm telling Snape! First-years have the same rights as you!"

"No, you don't." Said Tracey.

No, they didn't. Slytherin was a highly stratified society.

"Well, we should!"

"Tell you what, Alicia;" Advised Millicent, "when Snape calls for suggestions at the next house open forum, you can propose that."

Even Alicia took the point. There were no 'open forums'. Snape never called for suggestions; he was an unreconstructed despot. This was Slytherin, not bloody Hufflepuff!

**oOo**

**Slytherin prefects' office**

All the fourth crammed into the prefects' office. A bit squeezy, but they did their best. Harry looked on in horror, as the seated Zabini patted his lap and Tracey grinned and perched upon it. What does it take to have that kind of confidence, he wondered. But he knew the answer: five more inches and devilish good looks. He swallowed his despair manfully, and turned to face the prefects.

Sophie Blishwick and Nigel Latimer were standing by the bookcase doing a head count. Pucey was leaning back in his chair, feet crossed at the ankles and propped on the side of AB's desk.

"Adrian." Tutted AB prissily, as he eyed Pucey's insouciant pose.

Pucey rejected the scold.

"Yes! They _are_ new! Picked them up at Fenella's. Oxblood. A gentleman must always have a pair of oxblood brogues!"

AB gave the slightest of eye-rolls.

"All present?" He asked Latimer, "Very well. If Snape asks, the purpose of this meeting is to plan a welcome back party for Nott."

More intrigue for the fourth-years: a hush hush meeting _and_ a pre-prepared lie for Snape. They watched AB rise, and lean over the desk, placing his right palm flat on the buffed walnut.

"All shall aid, and none shall speak without."

Sophie placed her palm on top of AB's, Malfoy on top of Sophie's until all except Harry had a hand in the communal pile. Millicent yanked him over with her spare arm, and he followed suit.

"All shall aid, and none shall speak without." They said in unison.

Apart from Harry, who trailed slightly. Then he looked puzzled.

"Without what?"

Zabini snickered, Malfoy groaned, and Pucey proffered an explanation.

"We do cleave to the old ways down in the dungeons! 'Without' means outside of, beyond …"

"Or it did about 700 frigging years ago!" Interrupted Millicent, "It's a Pure Blood thing; humour them, Potter. It just means we're going to talk about secret stuff, so keep your trap shut."

"Elegantly put, Mills!" Said Pucey.

Oath taken, they went back to their places. Tracey nabbed a chair for herself, Harry was pleased to note, forcing Pansy to squeeze in next to Malfoy.

"You all remember 'The Great Chase', and what preceded it?" Asked AB.

"_And_ what followed it!" Laughed Daphne.

"Before he became 'Peter Perfect', AB was 'Naughty Peter'. Nicked a load of exam questions!" Pansy explained to Harry with glee.

"Yes, thank you for the recap, Pansy. It seems Potter's got himself in a similar pickle."

AB recounted the facts thus far, or rather his new, official version of the facts. Harry had been invited into Snape's rooms, left alone, and done the unthinkable: he'd prowled and perused the bookshelves, found some exam questions, panicked and kept hold of them.

"You're _dead_! Sorry, Potter. We've had a few laughs these last six months, so I will miss you. But you _are_ dead!" Said Millicent.

Next to her, Malfoy looked anything but sorry. He was beaming. Pansy giggled, and called him a naughty boy; Tracey and Zabini laughed, and cogs turned in Crabbe's head.

"You've got our end-of-year exam papers? Brilliant! No revision!" Said Crabbe.

"They were the second-year exam questions." Lied AB.

"Potter, you bloody idiot!" Crabbe growled.

"We can give them to Goyle;" Suggested Malfoy, "he's still trying to pass those exams! _Ouch_! My arm!"

Thank you Greg, thought Harry, as AB called for order.

"We have to act fast. Anyone know where Snape is?"

Some heads shook, but Emerald Sykes piped up.

"I know who he's with. Flitwick collared him on the stairs, and shoved a manuscript at him."

"How does Flitwick collar anyone?!" Asked Zabini, "Shouldn't that be 'Flitwick trouser-cuffed him'?!"

"Oh, that's good news." Said AB, ignoring Zabini's jest. "Flitwick's got him to proofread a chapter of his book. It'll buy us some time."

"Time for what?" Asked Malfoy suspiciously.

"Time to help Potter wriggle out of this, of course."

Harry watched as Malfoy thrust himself back in his seat with disgust- obviously peeved he'd just sworn the oath. Great, he thought sourly; The Prat's back to his old self again. It was plain for the whole room to see that Semi-Decent Malfoy and Malfoy the Exasperating Shit were having an internal tussle. It was The Shit that won out.

"This isn't fair!" He exploded, "You didn't tell me it was Potter in trouble before I took that oath! I would never have taken it!"

"We're Slytherins." Replied AB smoothly, "Of course we were going to trick you into doing it. Do try and keep up, Malfoy!"

The prefects all smiled, and the smile spread around the room, even to Crabbe, Goyle and Pansy. Malfoy, not wanting to be on the outs again with his house, resigned himself to helping. But not with grace.

"Alright, alright, I'm in. But on one condition." He levelled a malicious smirk at Potter, "_I_ get to write this up for _The Bible_, and this time, I _am_ calling it 'Saving Potter's Sorry Arse'!"

"Deal." Said AB, "Onto business. Adrian?"

Pucey sat up in his chair, and cleared his throat.

"So, Potter's in a pickle; we have a pickled Potter. Only way out of the pickle is to get that exam paper back on Snape's shelves pronto. What's stopping us doing that?"

Access to Snape's private quarters, and the insane amount of charms on his door; they all knew it. And the time factor! Bloody hell! Snape could go and look at his shelves any moment. Tick tock tick sodding tock! That was the killer point. So hard to think when you can practically hear the seconds whizz by.

"Dobby!" Cried Harry, "Dobby can put it back. Piece of cake!"

Well it would be, informed AB, if only Dobby hadn't taken employment at Hogwarts and sworn allegiance to Dumbledore. Because that allegiance meant he owed it to Dumbledore's chain of command, too. No way could Dobby override Snape's security measures. And that was Harry done. He spent the next few minutes envisioning The Git's wrath, made worse by the effing useless suggestions he was hearing.

"We _Bombarda Maxima_ Snape's rooms. _Bang_! Everything destroyed. Sorted." Proffered Zabini.

"Too risky." Murmured Daphne.

"You think?!" Asked Millicent.

"We don't need to bomb his rooms, we just set fire to them." Said Goyle.

"We can send in sleeping gas through the vent in the listening cupboard!" Suggested Tracey.

"How would that help?" Asked Latimer.

"Not sure yet." She replied.

"Pixies!" Said Pansy, "We slide them in through the gap under the door - they'll shred everything. Snape won't know what he's missing."

"Just out of interest Pansy, do you have any Cornish pixies?"

No, she didn't. Another duff idea.

"You know, if you ran away, not just hid in a smelly book store, but _really_ ran away, then we could tell Snape the truth. Easy!"

"_Malfoy_!" Thundered the rest of the room.

"_What_?! I thought we were brainstorming here!"

"We just have to nobble Snape somehow." Said Goyle.

"You've got it, Greg! Like I did with the Cheering Charm! Remember, Potter?"

"Yeah, that worked out great." Grumbled Harry.

He was doomed; he knew it. Two questions now assailed his mind: would it be the slipper or the cane? And would it only be in front of the house, or the entire school? Bugger! He'd been so hopeful when AB told him of the Slytherin prefect councils, how they joined with the year groups to try and extricate Snakes from an especially unpleasant meeting with their housemaster. Assuming, of course, that the Snake in question had done nothing malicious or dangerous. But this shower were bleeding hopeless. The house of cunning and dastardly plans? If only … Neville could come up with a better plan than the Snakes. Well, probably not, but someone he knew could … No. Don't say it, he told himself; they'd go mental if he mentioned Hermione's name.

"Tell you what the problem is," Announced Millicent, "it's all our backsides on the line if we try something and fail. That's why we're getting jittery. We need to calm down, and think about this logically."

AB sighed.

"You're right, Millicent. We're too close to this. We could do with an outsider's help."

"Who's going to help us?" Pouted Pansy.

"Pansy's right;" Said Malfoy, "the other houses hate us. The Ravenclaws would have a fit if they knew Potter had stolen an exam paper. They bloody live for exams. They'd be straight off to Dumbledore to get him expelled. Forget the Hufflepuffs, and the Gryffindors …"

"Yes?" Asked Harry.

"You're not seriously suggesting we use some of your old house mates in this? They'd be craptastic at sneaky plans! What would their tactic be? Hmm. Oh, I know! March down en masse making loud and righteous demands that Snape stop bullying Princess Potter and let him off scot-free with his rule-breaking. Snape would buckle in a heartbeat."

Harry sneaked a look around the room. Sod it! It seemed all the Snakes agreed with Malfoy's sardonic analysis. The minutes ticked by, and all he could do was pray Flitwick's chapter was long and error-strewn.

"Weasley." Crabbe eventually said. "Weasley wouldn't be like that. I've talked chess with him, remember? He's tactical; he'd go at this like a chess master."

"_No way_! We're not that bloody desperate!"

"We are! And desperate times, Draco, call for desperate measures. We should use him."

Pansy Parkinson said that! Bloody hell! Harry nearly fell off his chair.

"_And_ if it does all go tits up, we can shift the blame onto him." She added.

That sweetened things a little for Malfoy and the others. But despite Harry's desperation to replace the note, he wasn't too keen on this turn of events. Ron had been arsey with him all year, but it wasn't all Ron's fault. Harry, too, had stopped making much of an effort. He'd let things slide because … well because it was just too sodding hard to try and bridge the gap between Slytherin and Gryffindor; you had allegiance to one or the other. That was the way it was.

"What about the oath? 'None shall speak without'? We can't talk to anyone else without breaking it; Ron's 'without'."

There! He hadn't spent the last six months down in the dungeons for nothing. With a bit of verbal dexterity, Harry had outfoxed the Snakes.

"There's no problem." AB replied, "We simply get Weasley to take the oath."

Not so dexterous, after all.

"Only problem is, things haven't been so great with me and Ron lately. He's been a bit off, you know? I'm not too sure he'd really want to help me."

But the vision Pansy had conjured of off-loading the blame onto Ron in the event of catastrophe had won the rest of the room over.

"The Brainbox! She'll know how to talk him round. Go and tell Granger how much you're missing Weasley." Ordered Millicent.

The prefects nodded their consent to this, and in light of the fact Flitwick had ambushed Snape, suggested people took a half-hour break - and came back with something better than the previous piss poor ideas.

**oOo**

**Library corridor**

"If only you'd told me last night! I'm so cross with you!"

Thankfully not cross enough to ditch him - just cross enough to tell him off like an errant six-year-old. Harry did a quick scan of the corridor. _Phew_! No one there. He not only had to cope with the prospect of a public whacking courtesy of Snape; now he was being chided by his peers. At this rate he needn't fear the wrath of any vengeful Death Eaters, they were all going to die laughing at what a craven spectacle The Boy Who Lived made of himself.

Yep, Harry had told Hermione everything. Well, not quite everything. He was sure she would flip if she heard Snape had a secret plan, probably insist they told Dumbledore and have Harry removed from Slytherin immediately. So he left out that bit, going instead with AB's version of the exam paper. Hermione thrilled at Crabbe's suggestion to use Ron,

"I _knew_ there was more to Vincent!"

But she was furious when Harry told her he wasn't sure if Ron would want to help.

"You moron! Can't you see?!"

Then she told him in no uncertain terms. Yes, he had a hard life, but he'd also been given blessings - for which he seemed supremely ungrateful. Viz, a stalwart friend in Ron, albeit a friend who took the hump and sulked at the drop of a hat. The pair of them were far too stubborn. Ron was miserable in Seamus and Dean's company, and Cormac McLaggen was almost as bad as Malfoy for sneering at him. And Ron was absolutely _not_ a Cormac acolyte; he only tagged along with him when Harry was around - desperate to give the impression that he didn't need his old mate. Added to that, Harry had been handed the golden opportunity to spend time in Slytherin - a house for which she was rapidly developing a keen regard. She looked a little wistful after the tirade, and Harry felt loneliness emanate from her. Thirty seconds of silence, then she shook her bushy mop, tilted her head to the side, and gave Harry a motivational punch on the arm.

"_Ow_!"

"You go down to the dungeons. Just sit outside Snape's office, but if he comes, you _must_ tell him something to keep him occupied. We have to keep him away from his rooms as much as possible."

"What do I tell him?"

Hands on hips, and a disappointed head shake.

"Harry, I can't tell you what to do all the time."

You're doing a bloody good job so far, thought Harry. Proving him right, she spoke.

"Tell him about your headaches; you should have told him anyway. Tell him they're getting worse and you think something is seriously wrong. He's your head of house; he has to do something. If we're really lucky, he'll take you off to St Mungo's; that'll take ages. Right!_ I_ have to snap Ron out of his stubbornness; _you_ need to go and keep watch for Snape. I'll meet you down in the dungeons."

"Erm …"

"What?"

"They want Ron, I'm not sure they figured on you coming down."

Bugger! He hated saying that, but the last thing he wanted was Hermione being told to push off by one of the Snakes.

"That's too bad; they have no choice!"

_Attagirl_! Thought Harry.

**oOo**

**Under the south stairs, Hogwarts' entrance hall**

Malfoy wasn't doing much in the way of scheming to 'save Potter's sorry arse'; he was otherwise engaged. It's a hard thing to admit you're jealous, but he was jealous of Harry Potter. And the source of his jealousy shamed even Draco Malfoy. Potter didn't have a father to bugger things up for him. The most he had to contend with was James Potter's quidditch reputation, and sodding Wonderboy had outstripped that in his first year. Only five hours ago in Snape's study, things had seemed so clear. But now? Making a resolution to change was the easy part, he realised; it was acting on it that was hard.

He'd always known his housemaster wasn't dark, at least not any more. Death Eaters were vile and terrifying. Draco had cried through countless lonely nights at the manor listening to them goad, scorn and hex his father, as Narcissa pleaded for clemency. Lucius and his pathetic need to be 'a somebody'. What had he got himself into? What had he dragged Draco into? He cringed when he thought of his father's ridiculous affectations, the walking cane, the fake signet ring, the ludicrous speech patterns. His father was a cartoon, just like the ones he'd read in the _Whizzo Wizards!_ comics of his boyhood. But poor imitation or not, Lucius had dug a pit for them all. A person didn't simply renounce membership of the Death Eaters as if it were an exclusive wizarding club on Pall Mall. They'd never let him go; he knew too much.

_No_! Stop that, he told himself. The man who'd been more of a father to him than Lucius ever had was working on it, and Draco had faith in Severus Snape. He ran his fingers through his hair, massaged his scalp, and then threw down his arms. He was sick and tired of warring with himself; this was his chance to stop being a toe rag. He still recognised decency. And Snape was right; it was time to change before that recognition disappeared like smoke on the breeze. He _would_ help Potter, and another thing, he'd help more than sodding Weasley. He'd done it for Archie, he'd do it again for Wonderboy. Oh, but Weasley?! _FFS_! What was dungeon life coming to?! Fine then. Put up with Weasley, but if he brought cretinous Finnegan and Thomas with him - or worse! His odious twin brothers - then Malfoy was revoking his oath and turning Potter in to Snape himself. In fact, _any_ more Gryffindors, and he was calling it off.

No sooner had he decided that, than he heard light steps skittering down the stairs. Granger! And she was making for the dungeon staircase! He flew off the stone bench.

"Where are you going?" He snapped.

"Malfoy, this staircase only leads to one place."

"I know."

"Then that's where I'm going." She replied.

"You need an invitation from a Slytherin to go down there."

"I know!" She smiled.

"Well? Who invited you?"

"You did, or rather, you will."

"No chance, Granger!"

"Oh, I think you will."

"You're mad!"

"I'm not mad; I'm just upset …"

"You don't look upset. If that smirk gets any wider, your face will split. Anyway, shove off!"

Hermione gave a whimper.

"Oh, no! You've said it again!" She almost sobbed.

"Said what?"

She didn't answer, just took great delight in showily pinching the soft underside of her upper arm. Her eyes welled with tears, though the smirk remained.

"Don't do that!" Malfoy said, yanking her arm down.

"I need to find Professor Snape … and tell him you just called me it again!"

"Called you what? What in Merlin's name are you talking about?"

"M. U. D. B. L. O. O. D." She spelled out.

"_I didn't_!"

"I think you did. You said it three times, in fact. You know what that means … and _I_ know what that means! Off to Gryffindor Tower with you! Take my advice and bend over the red sofa arm; it's a lot softer than the others, so at least some part of you will be comfortable while you're being slippered."

Malfoy was aghast.

"_What_ …?! How do you …?! Who told you?"

Hermione inwardly heaved a sigh of relief. What Harry had told her last night about Snape threatening to take Malfoy up to the tower and whack him if he ever called her mudblood again hadn't just been idle gossip; he'd really said it. What a mortifying prospect for Draco! Her next feeling was alarm. What was happening to her?! She'd connived to blackmail Draco - and thoroughly enjoyed it. And though her cheeks did indeed feel as if they were about to split apart, she maintained the smirk. It was worth it. Payback for all those times Malfoy had been horrid to her.

**oOo**

**Slytherin corridor**

"What's she doing here?" Demanded Pansy.

"I invited her. She'll come in handy - she's a lot sneakier than we give her credit for."


	11. The Grand Master

**A/N 1:** As ever, thanks to guests, Jessie, Fan, and Hamlet. BTW Fan - I was achingly sweet and kind! And Hamlet, your solution makes much more sense, but whither the plot?!

**A/N 2: **Apologies to anyone who's really good at chess - you'll find things to quibble about in this chapter. (I haven't played for years and was never much cop) For other folk, according to Crabbe, Bobby Fischer was a WAY better player than Spassky. And the 'Englund Gambit Trap' is a chess move.

**A/N 3: **Ron nicks a lot of his lines from Sun Tzu's _The Art of War_.

**A/N 4: **Sunset 74 brought to my attention the fact that I use a lot of English expressions, and I seem to have a lot of readers in the US. I'm sure the meanings are obvious, but just in case '_to gull_' means to trick/fool, and '_to be for the high jump_' means you're about to be in really big trouble. Thanks Sunset!

**Chapter 11: The Grand Master**

**Hogwarts staffroom**

It occurred to Severus that during these Easter holidays he hadn't been the loneliest professor in Hogwarts. The invisible crown for that particular title was surely sitting atop the head of Filius Flitwick. Toting around his manuscript in hopes of securing a proof-reader, Filius had found that Pomona urgently needed to re-pot bubotubers; Dumbledore had an endless stream of ministry missives to deal with, Grubbly-Plank owl wings to mend, Hooch quidditch brooms to check, and Minerva a surfeit of paperwork to complete in her official capacity as Deputy Headmistress. Moody simply growled at the man, and gave no excuse. Even Irma Pince with her supposed love of the written word claimed not to have the time. Or perhaps, brooded Severus, it was because of her love of the written word.

His eyes trudged to the bottom of yet another page of Flitwick's deathless prose.

"And you're convinced the reader needs to know the _exact_ provenance of the garment your goblin ancestor wore in that duel?"

"Oh, absolutely Severus! You see …"

Flitwick paused - a pause clearly inspired by the disapproving look on Snape's face.

"You're not convinced?" He asked before drooping back in his chair and groaning, "_Ai_! Writing is such an arduous task!"

"No doubt, Flitwick. But believe me, there are times when it pales into insignificance compared to reading …"

Snape pressed the folio back into Flitwick's arms. Enough.

This hadn't been an act of compassion on his part. He had a low opinion of compassion; it took away struggle and denied a person growth. This had been a public act of contrition for the witch sitting in the corner to witness: O Minerva, I am heartily sorry for having offended thee. You're right; I do treat my colleagues and the other houses with disdain. I offer you my penance.

They made brief eye contact, then Severus threw himself back in his chair. What a bastard day! _Gruelling_! Potter's theatrics, Malfoy's nascent realisation of his father's ineptitude - and all it had wrought, Minerva's disgust, Flitwick's turgid tripe, and now what? He'd have to drag himself down to seventy-one demanding students. The lower school would be peevish about the morning's chores. That would annoy him, and he'd end up being harsh with someone. They'd whine of unfairness, and he'd go from being annoyed to irate - and who knew what Philip Aitcheson or Miles Bletchley were up to? If only … oh, what temptation. No. Don't think about it, he told himself, as he rose grim-faced out of the armchair.

**oOo**

**Hogwarts entrance hall**

What luck! AB hadn't even been looking for Snape. While Harry was trying to cajole Ron Weasley into aiding his plight, AB had taken the opportunity to warn Cecily their dinner in Hogsmeade had been rumbled - and to avoid Snape. Not that Hufflepuff Cecily was subject to the dear old slipper, but the man's sneers and put-downs were formidable implements in themselves. He watched Snape stalk towards him.

"If you've come to tell me there's trouble in the dungeons, I'll hex you!"

"I haven't, sir! I've been seeing Cecily."

"Oh, have you now?"

Snape sounded wistful, almost a little jealous.

"Are the rest of them speaking to Malfoy yet?"

They were, AB informed him.

"Civilly?"

"Yes, sir."

"How about Malfoy and Potter; how are they with each other?"

"They're being civil, too."

"First-years as grating as ever?"

AB smiled. This conversation appeared to be heading in a fortuitous direction.

"They're a delight, sir! Full of the holiday spirit, and bucket loads of energy!"

"Are they?" Groaned Snape, "The little swine …"

"Probably shouldn't tell you this, sir, but I think some of the second-year girls are practising a song to sing to you!"

The Head Prefect looked on with vicious delight as Snape appeared on the point of dry retching. Come on, sir; you know you want to, thought AB. To help his housemaster reach the finishing line, he gave another snippet.

"Although Alicia's none too happy; she feels excluded. I believe she's waiting for you to go down, so she can discuss her grievances."

_Not_ lies. Lara Templeman and friends were indeed practising a song, though given the lyrics, the last person they'd wish to hear it was Snape. Alicia did suspect something was afoot, and was none too happy at being excluded. Snape was clearly thinking hard on matters.

"You know, Mister Armitage-Brown, you are the only prefect not sufficiently troubled by your dereliction of duty last night to have come to my study …"

"I was going to come later, sir."

"Hmm … it concerns me a head prefect should pay no regard to instructions from his housemaster …"

"I'll learn from it sir, and do better."

"I believe students learn better if there's a consequence to their misbehaviour …"

Snape continued musing aloud, and AB just hoped his musings were going in the right direction.

"I doubt you're in want of my more 'rigorous' consequences; I think I acquitted myself rather well this morning …"

He did. AB had been feeling the 'rigour' all day.

"No." Decided Snape, "What you need is a lesson in responsibility. You have charge of the house tonight, Armitage-Brown. Keep an eye on Malfoy and Potter. Remind Van Den Berg and Miss Walsh what happened the last time they flitted off to Hogsmeade, and tell Miss Mayhew if she can't use her brain to resolve her own grievances, I'll have her re-sorted into Hufflepuff. You may expect to see me again at some point tomorrow."

With that, Snape turned on his heel and strode outside. He paused to fill his nostrils with the sweet smell of springtime rain, and then beetled off to Hogsmeade with the same delight a small child approaches presents under a Christmas tree.

**oOo**

**Earlier, Slytherin staircase**

The best plans are simple, Hermione told Malfoy and Pansy. All she'd done was tell Seamus and Dean that Harry was returning to Gryffindor. The two boys looked at her, but really they were looking at their new-found popularity withering on the vine. She'd then hidden behind a curtain, and listened as they went into overdrive with Ron: being 'whacky', garbling as many abysmal jokes as they could muster, and planning wheezes and adventures. Ron _had to_ go to Ireland for Christmas,

"We'll have a blast! My family's even funnier than me!"

Dean insisted he spent the summer holidays at his house,

"You don't want to take the chance that Potter will turn up on your doorstep, do you?!"

On hearing that, she risked a sly peep around the curtain. Oh, yes! She knew then that Ron would kill for the chance of Harry turning up.

"Five minutes, then give this note to Ron." She whispered to Neville, before slinking out of Gryffindor to blackmail Malfoy.

**oOo**

"You're evil." Malfoy announced, "I'm not getting on the wrong side of you."

"You already have." She told him, "Watch out!"

" '_Mione_? '_Mione_?!"

Pansy shoved Hermione up the stairs to go and retrieve Ron, and turned to Malfoy.

"She likes you."

"You wouldn't say that if you'd heard her before." He replied.

"It's nice though, isn't it? Being with someone from another house for once? Like at the Yule Ball. I enjoyed that; people spoke to us."

He was trying to feel like that; he really was … He pulled Pansy up from the stairs to make way for Granger and Weasley - if she ever got him that far.

"Where's Harry?" Asked Ron, "Your note said he was desperate to see me."

"He is. He's downstairs."

"_What_?! I'm not going down there! That's Slytherin territory!"

"Harry's _in_ Slytherin, Ron."

"Yeah, but the dungeons ..."

The speaking died out and was replaced by scuffling.

"I went down; so can you!"

Pansy and Malfoy tried to keep straight faces as they watched a bug-eyed, white-faced Ron almost tumble, then tread warily down the stone steps.

"Behold Potter's saviour!" Whispered Malfoy to Pansy.

"Poor Potter … I can hear Snape swishing away at him already!" Giggled Pansy.

**oOo**

**The Slytherin Prefects' Office**

Despite his fears, Ron made it. Millicent opened the door to the prefects' office and pushed him inside. There was Harry.

"_Ron_!"

"_Mate_!"

They both rushed to the centre of the room, arms open ready to embrace, and then stopped, cleared their throats and gave hearty slaps to each other's shoulder instead.

"You need me?" Asked Ron.

"I do. I've stuffed up big time. Snape's gonna kill me!"

Harry gave him an edited, exam-paper version of events, and that's all it took … However …

"I'll help you Harry; you know that. But not down here, not with this lot."

Hermione and the Slytherins all heard that; Millicent had left the door open a crack. Malfoy saw Pansy's disappointed face, and turned poisonous eyes on Hermione. Next, they all slunk through the doorway into the office, and Harry spoke again.

"They're great Ron, they really are. Give 'em a chance. And I need them; they know Snape way better than me."

"Well, what do you need me for then?"

Fair point. What to say? We've taken a house oath, and if we help Harry and fail, Snape will give us a righteous thrashing? That wouldn't sway Weasley; he'd only laugh at their Slytherin ways. They all pondered - except one. He stood in the corner and mulled over what he'd seen. He doubted he'd ever seen a look like that in anyone's eyes when he'd greeted them, that uncontainable joy. If anyone asked him about it, he knew he'd sneer. But it would be the usual empty Malfoy hauteur. He wanted that; he bloody well wanted that. And to want something so badly when you know there's almost no hope of getting it is a shit feeling. Fucking Weasley …

It was Crabbe that broke the silence.

"We need you because … because you're the Bobby Fischer to my Spassky."**  
**

The others didn't have a clue, but Crabbe knew he'd won Weasley over.

"Bobby Fischer eh? Alright I'll give your ideas the once-over." Said Ron.

**oOo**

"_Bombarda spells_?! _Cornish pixies_?! You're having a laugh, aren't you? Talk about the bleeding obvious; why don't you just send an owl to Snape and tell him what you're doing?!"

Ron paced to and fro behind AB's desk, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Who suggested setting fire to Snape's rooms? Come on, own up!"

Gregory Goyle raised his finger before ducking his head.

"Shameful! What were you aiming for? To get caught, or have Snape never trust his house again?"

Vincent Crabbe might never have realised the full import of his plea, but it flipped a switch in Ron Weasley. The Snakes and Hermione watched him change from scared rabbit to defensive ratbag to his final incarnation, a chess grand master.

"Blimey! Carrot Top's a bit different when he takes control, isn't he?" Whispered Pansy to Daphne.

"Mmmhmm!" Oozed Daphne.

"He's got a point." Nodded Millicent to Emerald and Sophie.

"I knew the _Bombarda Maxima_ was a rubbish idea." Said Zabini.

"It was yours!" Said Emerald.

But one amongst the Snakes' number realised he preferred a cringing Weasley.

"Oh, yeah? You got a better idea?" Asked Malfoy.

Ron stopped his pacing, and stared off into the distance - _enigmatically_,

"Every game of chess I play is a battle …"

Renowned thicko, Daphne Greengrass, craned her neck to trace Ron's line of sight.

"Who's he talking to?" She whispered, "Is there someone inside that bookcase?"

"Ssh!" Urged Crabbe, "He's formulating a plan, the way only a Grand Master can."

Tracey poked him on the shoulder,

"You're a poet, and you don't know it!"

Crabbe batted her hand off, eager to drink in the Grand Master's words.

"I must defeat my enemy, and yet … though he's my enemy, I must give him reverence with my strategy … Subtle to the point of formlessness. Mysterious to the point of soundlessness."

"Babbling to the point of nonsense." Added Malfoy, "What does that even mean?!"

Ron gifted Malfoy a saint-like, pitying smile before finding Crabbe's eyes.

" '_Englund Gambit Trap'_!" He whispered.

Crabbe gasped.

"Effing brilliant! It means, Malfoy, it's _effing brilliant_!"

Malfoy's misery was complete as he looked around the room at the rapt faces. He'd read of charlatan wizards preying on the feeble-minded and starting their own cults. A small part of him had respected how they simultaneously managed to inspire fear and love, _and_ gull cretins out of their last knut. Maybe he'd underestimated Weasley?

Ron started speaking again, and Malfoy silently groaned at how readily his fellow Snakes snapped to attention.

"Who plays chess here?"

Most hands in the room rose.

"I mean, _really_ plays chess; can see more than seven moves ahead?"

The raised hands fell. Ron looked at Crabbe.

"About four." Said Crabbe apologetically.

Ron patted his shoulder,

"It's okay. You can keep your hand up."

"Sorry, Ron. Do you think you could explain a little more?" Asked Daphne, "I'm not quite getting it."

"It means we do what we always do, and I think you're on to something, Weasley." Said Millicent.

"Hang on!" Spluttered Malfoy, "What's so sodding mind-blowing about doing what we always do?!"

"People can see the tactics I use to conquer …"

Began Ron, pausing to stare off again into the middle distance. Harry and Hermione thought Ron was pushing things a bit, overdoing the whole 'mystic mage' thing. But, no! The Snakes were lapping it up! Except one - and that didn't really surprise them.

" … but no one can see the strategy out of which my victory is evolved …" Finished Ron.

"Translation please, Millicent." Snapped Malfoy.

Daphne and Goyle tutted, and the platinum head turned on them.

"Oh please! Don't you two pretend you understand him!"

"I'm guessing it means that our everyday life continues as is. But we use those everyday occurrences to formulate our plan. Have I got it, Weasley?" Asked Millicent.

Ron slowly turned to her,

"You're a chess player, Millicent Bulstrode!" He said. Then he walked closer and whispered, "You just don't know it yet!"

Pucey hooted with mirth, and to her everlasting shame, Millicent blushed. As he walked past Harry and Hermione, Ron tipped them a wink.

**oOo**

So it was Ron to the rescue. He sat at AB's desk and revelled in his moment,

"You know, if I'm going to get you lot out of this shemozzle, you'll need to lift your game."

The three prefects present, Sophie, Latimer and Pucey, had all gravitated to the back of the room. Sophie and Latimer wore wry smiles while Pucey was in danger of giving himself a nosebleed trying to stifle his snickers. Millicent, embarrassed at feeling flattered by Weasley's claptrap, had pulled herself together, and was on the verge of telling him to wind his neck in, but recalled Goyle's idea of fire-storming Snape's rooms. She was grateful he'd scotched that. She was also grateful that Brainbox was still hanging around. Not pure lust on Millicent's part, she genuinely enjoyed the cerebral challenge. Zabini was focussed on Hermione, too. How could she have let her sleek 'do of the Yule Ball revert back to that fuzzy mess? He nodded along to Ron's chidings, wondering which of his many hair products would work best.

Crabbe knew he'd never reach Weasley's lofty heights of chess mastery, but that didn't matter. Chess was the thing; it taught planning, strategy, patience and respect for one's opponent. It had served him well at home with his parents, being able to manoeuvre his younger sister out of harm's way whenever their father was egregiously foul. Respect for one's opponent was what Malfoy lacked, Crabbe reflected. "Stick next to Malfoy; you need to watch him." His father had always told him. Watch out for him, or watch him? Crabbe wasn't sure what the order meant now. Communication from his father was growing more ominous. He had the feeling pieces were moving on the board, and that Draco Malfoy was rapidly becoming an isolated pawn. He welcomed the opportunity to learn from Weasley.

And Malfoy? Well, he was still forcing himself not to sabotage proceedings, but what wouldn't he give for Snape to barge through that door right now? Oh, to watch Weasley leap into the air and return to gibbering! He'd give up his inheritance rights to Malfoy Manor for that.

Three short raps on the door, and AB walked in beaming after his encounter with Snape. Not quite Snape, but Malfoy nonetheless enjoyed the sight of the Head Prefect smoothly and wordlessly evicting Ron from his desk. Ron tried perching on the side - to no avail.

"Glad to see you're on board, Weasley. Take a seat over there."

Slytherin House was about nothing if not hierarchy.

"Have I got news for you, Snakelets! His nibs is off to Hogsmeade - won't be back until tomorrow; how's that for a bit of luck?!"

" '_His nibs'_?!" Queried Pucey, "Sophie, give him a note for his lack of respect!"

"Why give him a note?" Asked Ron.

Hermione knew; Harry had told her. She also knew the Slytherins were secretive to the point of obsession about their house.

"It's just something they do in Slytherin, I suppose."

"No." Said AB, "If Weasley's to help with this pickle, he's going to need to know about Slytherin life. Perhaps this is an opportune moment for Weasley and Granger to take the oath?"

The other prefects nodded their agreement. Hermione thrilled, and Ron felt a bit of panic, but he'd already been evicted from the desk; he didn't want to lose his 'Grand Master' status entirely.

"Yeah, sure. I'll take that."

Another piling on of hands on AB's desk and a solemn intoning of the oath. Harry braced himself for his mate to laugh at the pompous words, but he didn't - Ron was obviously back in 'mystic mage' mode and enjoying it. He did, however, laugh when informed of Snape's disciplinary regime. But even that surprised Harry.

"We all thought he did! Come off it, don't look so surprised; it's bloody Snape! But the Greasy … er Snape walloping you with a slipper; I never thought he'd have anything in common with my parents! Gotta be better than the sodding detentions he gives the rest of us."

Ron deemed the note system both sensible and tactical - though he did give a shudder at the thought of how many notes Percy would've handed out. His brother should have been in Slytherin; he'd have bloody loved it down here. That made him wonder if the prefects ever abused their position.

"There's no special treatment for us, I can assure you." Said AB with feeling, "If we handed out a note maliciously, we'd be for the high jump."

The prep sessions he already knew about from Harry, but he still gave his sage advice.

"Waste of time; you wanna get rid of that malarkey."

Hermione rolled her eyes, and did so again as Ron declared the book club 'rubbish'. But he did like all the communal activities, and was very complimentary about the plentiful afternoon teas that were a staple of Slytherin life.

**oOo**

Before the secret council adjourned, Ron set out his requirements.

"I need an office to work out of." He said, "Not in the dungeons. Snape can't see me down here; we don't want to make him suspicious, alright?"

The fourth-year Snakes huddled in a corner for a conflab. When they came out, they'd agreed Ron could use their hideout, the linen press next to the kitchens.

"We've got a place for you." Said Tracey.

Ron had used the conflab time to make a list of his other needs.

"I'll need some big sheets of parchment - huge, not the fiddly kind we use in class."

"Done." Said Latimer.

He wanted the muggle marker pens he'd seen Hermione use - Millicent had a couple for him, too. He also needed a pointer; apparently his wand was insufficient. Malfoy snorted, and said he didn't doubt it. Hermione knew the vomiting slug incident of two years before was about to be dredged up.

"Malfoy?" She said.

"What?"

"M. U. …"

"I was just about to say we loan him Snape's cane! That'd make a great pointer." He lied.

Ron's eyes went wide.

"No way! I'm not touching that! Don't get that!" He said

"Stuff this up Weasel, and you'll get it alright!" Said Malfoy.

A desk and two chairs, a clock, a large box of model soldiers, notebooks, a precise timetable of Slytherin life (holiday mode), as well as constant carafes of pumpkin juice and a hamper of food were vital, said Ron.

"Anything else, Weasley?" Asked Pucey.

"Some Canary Creams and sugar quills would be good."

But he saved his best and most tactical decision for last. Ron looked around the room for the loneliest person there. Lonely people watched. Ask a person what they normally do and say, or how they act, and you'll get gibberish. They think they know, but they don't. Ask a lonely person, and they can tell you in intricate detail.

"Sorry Harry, but I'd like Malfoy to be my assistant."

"No chance!" Said Malfoy.

Ron shrugged and began thinking of the second best option.

"I'll never be your assistant, Weasley. But I'll be your special advisor."


	12. A Rubbish Plan

**A/N 1: **Thanks to guests, Fan and Hamlet! Much appreciated!

**A/N 2: **Did you play _British Bulldog_ at school? It's a brilliant (and rough) game - it gets a mention here.

**Chapter 12: A Rubbish Plan**

**32B Winklewort Street, Hogsmeade**

"Are you alright?"

He lifted his head from the pillow.

"Why?"

"No reason … just seemed a bit rushed, that's all."

Snape threw his head back and groaned.

"I'll do better next time." He promised.

"You'd better - or I'm turfing you out!"

But as she looked closer, Polly Pinkerton saw the exhaustion in his face - too tired for teasing. Her finger trailed along his shoulder and down to his forearm, where it traced the Dark Mark impassively.

"I could easily have joined them … must have felt so good to finally feel wanted. Turn your back on all the hoity toity types that love to sneer at you …"

"Why didn't you?" Asked Snape.

Polly laughed, but the laugh contained precious little joy.

"The Death Eaters weren't exactly clamouring for me to join. Who wants a barmaid that does 'extras' to make ends meet? They never even noticed me."

"Be grateful."

"I am. And you should be grateful, too. No one sees me, even if I'm as close to them as I am to you now. I hear things, Severus. People speak right through me as if I'm invisible. I …"

She stopped speaking. It could wait. She looked at his eyes as they fought the battle to stay open, and leaned in to kiss him. The kiss felt softer than the down pillow his head lay upon. And with the scant energy he could summon, he pulled her close.

"Do you ever change the barrels for Aberforth?" He asked.

"All the time. He's a lazy sod, always pretending to have a bad back."

"Imagine you dropped one … dropped one outside and it went careering down the hill, bouncing off cobbles and going any direction but straight. That's my life, Poll'. And I don't know if I'm up to it."

She said nothing, simply kissed his eyelids closed.

**oOo**

**Slytherin fourth-year hideaway, the old kitchen linen press**

Draco Malfoy sat with his arms crossed, busily contemplating the sad sack Gryffindor opposite. Weasley was all wide eyes and silence. Where was the know-it-all master strategist of twenty minutes prior? That had annoyed him, but this? This was just boring. Well, the upside was Weasley was bloody useless, and Potter was going to be toast once Snape cottoned on to what he'd done. Oh no, hang on. The sodding oath! They were all going to be toast. Scrap that; there was no upside. Time to get Weasley into gear.

"_Boo_!"

Ron leapt up and scattered his markers and parchment in the process.

"Look lively Weasley, or the only thing we'll have to worry about is whether Snape uses his slipper or decides the cane is called for."

If possible, Ron's eyes grew even wider. He'd amazed himself at how well he'd handled the meeting in the prefects' room. Dominating behind a chess board was one thing, but walking into that snake pit? He'd served up their speciality - sneers and put-downs - and handed it to them on a platter! Now, doubts were looming. Thing was, Ron was good at chess and tactical thinking - just maybe not quite as good as he'd made himself out to be. Blimey! What if Malfoy was a real whizz? It would be just like his bloody father to have his precious son coached by a real grand master. Ron was going to look like a right tit.

"How'd you get to be so good at chess, Weasley?"

"Dunno. I just like it, I suppose. You get good at stuff you like, don't you?"

"So you don't like quidditch, then?" Asked Malfoy.

Git, thought Ron.

"Anyway, you can drop the chess talk. I don't play."

Brilliant!

"But Theo Nott's an ace. Tell you what, when this is all over and Theo's back at Hogwarts, we'll have an exhibition match between the two of you. He's always complaining no one gives him a challenge - not even Snape."

Malfoy watched Ron pale, and smelled fear. It was a scent he liked running through his nostrils.

"I know! We can have it Sunday evening before term starts. Straight after dinner in the main hall; it'll be our thank you for helping out Slytherin."

"No need for that."

"We repay our debts in Slytherin." Insisted Malfoy.

How good was Nott if Snape didn't give him a challenge? Ron hadn't known Snape played, but it didn't surprise him. The man was a git, but he was clever and sneaky; he'd probably be a great chess player. He went into panic mode imagining being trounced by Nott in less than two minutes flat. Fred and George would never let him hear the end of it.

"Thing is …"

"Yes?" Asked Malfoy.

"Maybe I'm not … you know … completely and _totally_ brilliant at chess …"

"Ha! I _knew_ it!"

" … but I am good, though!"

How long before his shameful admission made its way around the school? Ron gave Malfoy until suppertime to have spread the news: Weasley's a bragging wanker, and he isn't even that good at chess. Pass it on! But Ron had misread Draco Malfoy. He'd had a lifetime surrounded by pompous braggarts, and hearing someone consciously humble himself took him off guard.

"I'd have done the same." Malfoy admitted.

Ron thought for a few moments.

"Does Nott even play chess?"

"Don't know. Don't care. I told you I don't play the game, so stop talking about it."

"You were bluffing, and I fell for it! Bloody hell, some strategist I am! Harry's dead!"

"Get a grip, Weasley. Snape's study would be a burnt-out shell by now if you hadn't talked Goyle out of his crap plan. We have to make this work."

"Harry's the one in trouble; why do you care?"

"If Potter gets caught, we all do. Slytherin oath, remember? And if we all cop it, I'm taking you down with us."

Ron didn't doubt that for a second. He could've started worrying over what form Snape's justice would take, but he didn't. Something about Malfoy admitting he too would have exaggerated his chess prowess calmed Ron. For once, he saw a hint of humanity in Malfoy. The pair got straight down to business.

**oOo**

**Fifty minutes later**

No matter what, the problem always came back to Snape's bloody door, a door that would only open with Snape's spell. How to get the spell? Fantastical plots were dreamt up: slip Snape some veritaserum, get the spell, then obliviate any memory he had of recounting it. Perhaps it could have worked, but both boys knew they were too intimidated by the man to even try. And where were they supposed to get veritaserum? Snape had it in his potions store, but that would likely be guarded by the same spell - back to square one. More intricate, yet equally insane plots followed. Amongst them, rapid study into being an animagus. Harry turns into a cockroach, wriggles under the door with a shrunken note, enlarges the note,

"How?" Demanded Malfoy.

"With his wand, of course." Answered Ron.

"Potter's cockroach-sized but he can still carry his own wand?!"

"Bugger!"

"Transfigure the note into a moth …"

Ron was thinking aloud again.

"Train the moth to fly towards books, squeeze between them… No. It won't work …"

"Are you sure about that? 'Cos it's sounding great so far …" Said Malfoy.

Ron ignored the sarcasm and carried on thinking.

"We're getting too fancy." He said. "Get too fancy on the chess board and you slip up; your opponent goes and does something you don't expect and you're screwed."

A simple plan is _not_ a simple thing to dream up. Both boys were discovering that. Ron clamped his hands on either side of his head, hoping to massage forth an idea whilst Draco paced circles around the small room.

"_Bloody hell_!" Cried Ron.

A split second later, the door crashed open and in surged Hermione. With her usual clumsiness she managed to offend both parties.

"_Ron_?! What is it?! Are you alright?! What's Malfoy _done_?!"

"Of course I'm alright!" Snarled Ron, "I can sit in a room and talk without having a meltdown!"

"What do you think I did? Hit him with an Unforgivable?!" Objected Malfoy.

But though clumsy, she was sharp and recognised that was the best possible reaction she could have got. The two were working together, and resented any suggestion otherwise.

"Why are you here, Granger?" Asked Malfoy.

"I wanted to see if she'd found you."

"Who?"

"Alicia. When I was in the hall I saw her heading off to the kitchens."

Malfoy rolled his eyes. No doubt Alicia had fallen out with the other first-year girls, probably because Astoria teased her over her infatuation with Potter. Alicia would be on her lonesome and bored. And when she was like that, she was a bloody menace.

"Well? What were you shouting about?" Asked Hermione.

"We've only gone and forgotten the bleeding obvious!" Said Ron.

"Which is?" Asked Hermione and Malfoy.

"Harry's dad's cloak!"

Malfoy broke the news that Snape had confiscated the cloak, along with some edited highlights of it being used during the unauthorised trip to Hogsmeade. It didn't take a genius to realise Snape had most likely placed it in a new hiding spot. But Ron wasn't fazed. He pulled out one of the large parchments Latimer had supplied, and began squaring it off. Once done, he handed it to Malfoy to sketch out a plan of Snape's office and study.

**oOo**

The rest of the Fourth, accompanied by AB, piled into the small room and took up position on the blanket-covered linen shelves. Crabbe plundered the picnic hamper for supplies before settling down on his usual lower shelf, only to have Pansy screech at him that he had no manners.

"What about the rest of us?!"

He dragged himself up again to the hamper and began lobbing cakes and biscuits at everyone. Hermione, who'd been perched primly on the edge, took note of the Snakes and lay down the length of the shelf on her side, her head propped up in her hand. She sniggered to herself and spoke,

"All these cakes and biscuits … and I haven't even got any dental floss here!"

"Yeah … you're outrageous, Brainbox." Said Millicent.

"I know!" Replied Hermione, oblivious to any undertone.

"So! What're we doing, then?" Asked Tracey.

Ron told them. They were going to use Harry's cloak to get the note back.

"I don't have it, Ron; Snape's got it." Said Harry.

"I know, but we're gonna nick it back off him! Once we get that, we're on easy street. You put the cloak on, slip into Snape's study, stay put in a corner, and when Snape goes from the study into his own rooms, you follow and put the note back. Nice and simple, the essence of plotting." Said Ron.

Millicent looked dubious, but before she could say anything, Hermione piped up.

"Does the door need to be spelled open to get back out of his rooms?"

The Slytherins thought. At one time or another they'd all been invited into their housemaster's private quarters, usually for the breaking of bad news. No one could recall Snape using a spell to exit his rooms. Then again, as Millicent observed, the door spell had only come into being once AB had taken the exam paper. Her point was there were many questions they had no answer to. She spoke some more.

"Okay then, let's assume Potter _can_ replace the note with his cloak; how do we get the cloak?"

Draco's eyes glinted with wicked anticipation. He couldn't wait to see the Snakes' reaction to Weasley's plan. Ron began. The only way to get the cloak was for the Snakes to get into Snape's study. Each one of the fourth, plus the prefects, would need to find a reason to go in there. Ron pulled out the parchment he and Malfoy had been working on. On each square was written someone's name. The plan was this: once a person was inside, another Snake knocked on the door to distract Snape. During the distraction, the person scoured their allotted area for the cloak. The lucky finder then stuffed it under their jumper and vamoosed ASAP.

"Job done!" Finished Ron proudly.

Malfoy had said nothing to Ron, but he took great delight in watching the Snakes look on aghast.

"_What_?!" Demanded Ron of all the incredulous faces.

They soon told him what. There was only one sure-fire way to gain an invitation into Snape's study - and such an invitation was _not_ highly sought after.

"Sod off!" Cried Goyle, "I'm dragged in there often enough. I'm not going bloody looking for it!"

"I was in there only last week!" Objected Millicent, "I'm not going back for more!"

"Snape lets me in there if I'm upset about my mother." Said a smug Pansy, "That's how I'm going to get in and search my patch! The rest of you will just have to take a slippering!"

She didn't make herself popular with that comment, but she was right. How many people could turn up at Snape's door with sob stories and him not get suspicious? The man might not have been the cold-blooded reptile the other houses assumed him to be, but nor could it be said he was warm, cuddly and ever-eager to listen to teenage heartbreak.

"AB? Can't you go in and look for the cloak? You're in there all the time helping him." Asked Tracey.

"I'm not really. I go to his office a lot if he needs help with the Wolfsbane Potion. Most of the time, Snape comes to the prefects' office."

Tracey slumped down in disappointment, which prompted Harry to take a blind stab at nobility. The others hadn't done anything wrong yet. He could simply confess; what was the point in Snape going mental with everyone?

"Don't worry, Tracey; I can take it. Snape'll bloody murder me, but I'll take it."

"Bravo, St Potter." Said Malfoy, adding a slow clap. "Only it won't work. We took the oath, remember?"

The Snakes gave a communal groan.

"So what?" Asked Harry, "I release you from the oath."

"Doesn't work like that." Said Malfoy, "As soon as we take the oath, The Bloody Baron knows about it. We break it, he tells Snape everything."

Malfoy took a moment to check out the faces of the visiting Gryffindors. In them, he found the teensiest bit of solace.

"Ever been caned or slippered, Granger?!"

No she hadn't, and she wasn't entirely convinced that Snape had the authority to do so. However, she and Ron would take whatever was meted out to the Slytherins. When they'd taken the oath, they'd meant it.

"You're mad!" Said Pansy.

"Yeah, that is a bit mad." Agreed Ron, desperately trying to back-pedal on Hermione's promise.

"But thanks." Added Daphne, "It's good to know you're both standing with us."

"We are." Said Hermione, who then prodded Ron.

"Yeah … um … yeah. What she said."

"The Bloody Baron!" Cried Zabini, "We get The Bloody Baron to go into Snape's study. If he does it on the quiet, Snape won't even know he's there. He can watch him spell open his rooms, then he can come back and teach us the spell!"

The mood lifted - for a while.

"Would he help us? I mean, think about all the times he's gone tattling to Snape." Said AB.

That was true. Over the years The Bloody Baron had probably caused the Snakes more trouble than he'd help them out of. He was too much of a risk, and gloom once again crested the horizon. Malfoy added to it.

"Let's stick with Weasley's plan for a moment. How long before Snape spots a pattern … one of us goes in there, and a second person always turns up to annoy him?"

"Not a problem! Snape's famed throughout the wizarding world for his patience!" Scoffed Millicent. Then she leaned down from her top bunk, and poked Hermione in the shoulder, "I'm disappointed in you, Brainbox. You haven't thought of the obvious."

Hermione looked appalled; had she overlooked the obvious? The assorted heads in the room turned to look up at Millicent, who reclined on her bunk, munched on a caramel biscuit, and eventually spoke.

"What if Snape now keeps Potter's cloak in his quarters? How's this plan going to help then?"

Oh, yeah …

"We find that out by elimination," Said Hermione, "and if it's the case, we take the punishment."

She looked anxious, yet grimly determined; the Snakes looked miserable, and Ron looked like he was going to pass out.

**oOo**

**Supper, the Great Hall**

Ron knew they'd be all over him like a rash. His cheeks were sore from forced laughter, but he managed to keep on grinning even as he focused on watching the Slytherin table.

"Course, none of us will get a look-in when Potter's back." Said Seamus.

"Yeah … we'll have to stick together like glue then." Added Dean.

Ron felt like telling them it had never been like that; he, Harry and Hermione had always been on the outer. Instead he nodded and watched Malfoy first bat away Alicia Mayhew, then pick her up and deposit her at the end of the long table. She promptly jumped up and kicked him; AB reached for her arm and gave her a shake before appearing to send her out of the hall. I wonder, thought Ron, as he watched the glowering first-year stomp towards the doors. Next thing, he told the two limpets on either side of him he was off to use the loo.

"Back in a mo'."

Two minutes later, Draco Malfoy left supper. He met Ron in the pre-arranged spot, behind the pillar on the steps of the main entrance.

"Why did Hermione stay overnight in Slytherin last year? Wasn't it someone's birthday?"

"Elsa's" Replied Malfoy.

"What about the little trouble-causer in there? Would Snape do anything special for her?"

Draco thought. Generally speaking Alicia was either in trouble, or on the brink of it. But she was a sad soul, really; Snape probably would make a fuss of her on her birthday. He told Weasley as much, and then asked why he wanted to know.

"First things first." Said Ron. "Has she had her birthday this year?"

"No."

"Good."

They both agreed that the plan for retrieving the cloak wasn't the greatest. The others were right; it did have too many opportunities for stuff-ups. But that wasn't the only problem. They needed to be certain Snape was away from his rooms for a considerable while, so Harry could replace the note and exit safely. That was where Alicia came in.

"But her birthday isn't coming up soon. If it was, she wouldn't have shut up about it." Said Malfoy.

"Would Snape know when everyone's birthday is? I mean there's seventy of you; he can't remember them all."

"He has a file on each of us in his study. It'll be written in that."

"Yeah, McGonagall does too. Doesn't mean someone can't change a date, does it?"

This was sounding better than the first part of the plan. Alicia was besotted with Harry; everyone in Slytherin knew that. Dangle Harry as bait, and they'd have her going along with the plan in no time. Things were finally looking up.

**oOo**

**In the kitchen corridors**

"Ha! I've found you! I _knew_ you were hiding here somewhere! What's going on?"

She hadn't done as ordered and gone back to the common room. Alicia had prowled the kitchen corridors and waited until she'd heard footsteps. Malfoy hustled her inside the linen press, leant down, and poked his finger a millimetre from her nose, sending the stumpy first-year cross-eyed.

"If you _ever_ speak about this place to anyone else …"

"I won't!" She squeaked before the inevitable threat could follow.

He believed her. Alicia never went looking for trouble; a person as headstrong and prickly as she was simply found it.

"Wanna help us help Potter?"

Of course she did.

"You can't tell Astoria, or any of the others about it. You have to exclude them and keep it top secret." Warned Malfoy.

Even better, thought Alicia.

"And stop smiling." Snapped Malfoy, "You've been miserable and whiney all day. If you stop now, people are going to get suspicious. Be awkward and resentful."

"Can do." Said Alicia, and promptly gave Malfoy another kick to prove her point.

"Don't get cocky. Stuff this up for us, and I'll make your life a misery."

"He does anyway." She told Ron.

**oOo**

**The following afternoon, 32B Winklewort Street, Hogsmeade**

Fourteen hours of straight sleep does powerful things to a weary body. Snape felt like a new man; Polly Pinkerton felt so, too.

"You _did_ do better." She panted, "You can come back after all!"

"Lift your game, old girl, and I will!" Winked Severus.

"Cheeky bugger!"

Snape was famished; Polly wasn't surprised. He went out to buy food. She never had much in, choosing to eat at _The Hog's Head_ when she had a shift. In his absence, she thought about what she'd heard that past week. She'd spoken true when she'd said she was invisible. Those Death Eaters had looked clear through her as they'd plotted and named names. It galled her; she wasn't stupid, simply too poor to have been schooled past the age of nine. But as she thought of Severus, she realised what a blessing it was to be too insignificant to warrant notice.

**oOo**

He'd cooked breakfast, so she cleaned. Or she would, once she'd finished mopping up the pan juices with her piece of bread.

"Want some?"

Snape shook his head.

"You know me, Poll'; I'm abstemious in all things - except women and alcohol. But a woman with a hearty appetite is a fine sight indeed!" He declared, patting his lap to entice her over.

"If you're after another tumble, you're out of luck. My afternoon shift starts soon."

"What time is it?!"

"Two-thirty."

It had been a late breakfast, what with Severus discovering that shopping for provisions made his libido leap from excessive to positively heroic. Polly had loved every second; the one man that never paid her was the one man she could never refuse.

"I have to get back. The little swine will have been running rampant for nearly twenty-four hours."

"I hardly see them any more; I miss them. What did you do to them to stop them coming?"

"A dose of the old swish, swish." Answered Snape, pausing as he put on his boots. "And what do you mean by 'hardly ever see them'? Who do you see exactly, and how often?"

"Oh, no. That's your job to catch them, schoolmaster; I won't be telling any tales!"

But she did have another tale to tell. Pucey Senior had taken a room at _The Hog's Head_ to meet with the fathers of Crabbe and Goyle.

"I didn't catch what he was supposed to have done, but heed me Severus, Lucius Malfoy is a marked man."

Snape dropped the boot he was holding, grabbed Polly and sat her down to recount everything in minute detail.

**oOo**

A million and three thoughts jostled for precedence, and Snape gave up any attempt to order them. They were too numerous; they'd won. He tramped the long way back, through the birch forest, surrendering to whichever thought seized control of his mind. Draco would pay the heaviest price for his father's stupidity. Then again, the child always carried the burden of a father's failings; Slytherin House was proof positive of that. Was it a cruel plan he and Polly had devised? Maybe so. But a lot less cruel than anything The Dark Lord would dream up, or Pucey Senior.

Minerva! He'd need Minerva; he always knew he needed Minerva. Those Snakes of his had better not have sold themselves short in his absence … Minerva would be on the look out for ammunition against the Snakes, anything to get Potter back to Gryffindor. His damn Snakes couldn't behave themselves for longer than a day. If they thought he was a martinet in the past, they'd better watch themselves now … He recalled Polly's kindness toward the Snakes. He'd need that, too. And Armitage-Brown. Was he asking too much of the boy? He was, after all, even younger than he had been when he began teaching in Hogwarts. But AB wouldn't be alone. If everything went to plan, he'd have Polly there with him.

At the point where the birch trees grew sparse, his thoughts slowed and began to coalesce. A few minutes more walking brought clarity. He knew what he needed to do to turn Lucius from The Dark Lord. It would be an unhappy time for many, but just as happiness was fleeting, so too was unhappiness. And only fools go searching for happiness, he told himself. Life was about overcoming adversity, and for the first time in a long while, he knew he had the strength to do that. Then he smelled the almond oil Polly had massaged into his neck. No, happiness wasn't such a foolish thing; it reinvigorated a soul. He'd be back in the dungeons by four. _Not_ a time of unfettered felicitation in Slytherin. It was when all the cretins who couldn't go a month without even Adrian Pucey handing out three notes trooped in to receive their comeuppance. But today he resolved to be merciful. And Polly was right; his house _was_ a fine house. Apart from Malfoy and his spats with Potter, there'd been no recent instances of bullying or threats. Just as well, thought Snape. He looked up and saw the turrets of Albus' office before him - and his heart didn't sink.

**oOo**

**The dungeon corridor, outside Snape's study**

"And here's a sight that cheers! 'The Slipper Club' assembled to welcome back their dear old housemaster!"

The saddoes lining the corridor outside Snape's study didn't know what to make of the greeting. Was he being his usual sarky self? Or could it actually be that, for once, he wasn't hugely irritated? Harriett Walsh peered up at the man just two feet away from her - the left side of his mouth was definitely twitching north. They might be in luck, then again …

With a flourish of his wand, his study door clicked open. Vincent Crabbe, sixth in line, kicked himself for not paying closer attention to the wand movements.

"Yes, Mister Crabbe? Eager to jump the queue? No? Very well Miss Walsh, the honour of being first over the sofa arm is all yours!"

Harriett went in slightly discombobulated by Snape's manner while the rest of 'The Slipper Club' turned to hug the wall. It wasn't out of prurience; they weren't trying to listen. In any case, Snape always placed a silencing charm when dealing with offenders. The reason they turned was that the corridor was so damnably cold. It was the one place in the dungeons not to benefit from a roaring fire. Or maybe it was the arctic blast emanating from Licorus Black as he sent icy glares to the students. Bugger! Licorus … they'd have to think of a way to coax him from his frame once they got the cloak. Or perhaps not … would Potter's cloak fool a portrait? That was an unknown - amongst a sea of unknowns. The more Crabbe dwelt on it, the more this plan was beginning to spring leaks.

He looked at the three second-years and two first-years ahead of him. They'd flattened themselves against the wall to luxuriate in the warmth that radiated out from Snape's permanently lit study fire. Odd that folk should do that when soon enough they'd be complaining that a certain part of them felt as if it were on fire, but it was undoubtedly the only solace to be had in this particular situation. He briefly considered pushing them out of the way and leaning up against the fire-warmed wall himself, but didn't. If Snape caught him, it would double whatever he had coming.

Crabbe had drawn the short straw last night, and been the first of the fourth-years to go and search his portion of the study. Lurking around the corner somewhere was Potter, poised to start banging on Snape's door with an urgent request. Or he'd better be, thought Crabbe miserably; he wasn't making two voluntary trips to Snape. The girls had all been far too quick to think of other reasons to visit the study, Pansy with her sob story, Millicent and Emerald with book club enquiries, Tracey with a potion question, and Daphne with a request for better lighting in the girls' bathroom. The boys had all rolled their eyes, knowing full well that any more visits of a non-disciplinary nature would only arouse Snape's suspicion. So that morning, Crabbe had snatched a first-year Hufflepuff's bag of sweets and snarfed the lot of them - all in view of Professor Sprout. She'd sent a note instantly, and the first-year had laughed. Apparently the sweets were headed for the rubbish bin, being an ancient bag she'd just found in the pocket of a little-worn cardigan.

Crabbe realised that the wall by his left hand was pleasantly warm, and he shifted over to it. Nicking sweets from a first-year, what was that worth? The sweets had been old and stale, but that wouldn't lessen the punishment. More than six, he knew that much. The door opened, Harriett came out, and Snape swept all three of the second-years inside - must have been a group misdemeanour. Crabbe briefly wondered what they'd done, but then noticed Harriett was still there. Normally, the Snakes rushed away from the study with heads bowed. There was no shame attached to getting whacked; that was viewed as an occupational hazard. But the Snakes weren't snivellers; they preferred to blink away the glassy-eyed evidence of a Snape encounter before facing company.

"Only got one!" Reported Harriett, "Bloody bastard strength, but only one!"

Good to get a report because you just never knew with Snape. He was usually more lenient in the hols, but after a night away he could veer in the opposite direction. Harriett skipped off ready to face the cat-calls and invitations to sit down from whoever was in the common room. Crabbe moved over to share the warm patch with Alicia and Malcolm.

"You?" He asked.

"Third note in a month." Answered Malcolm.

"Booting Malfoy at supper." Said Alicia.

"Berk!" Laughed Crabbe.

"Don't care. It'll be worth it." Scowled Alicia.

"If you say so."

"I do."

"So you say." Said Crabbe.

"So I say."

Crabbe almost added 'so you say you say', but left it there. It had become a bit of sport to wind up Alicia by trying to deny her the last word. No one succeeded; she always managed to torture the English language sufficiently to make a reply. And in any case, Crabbe had a soft spot for her. He wished his little sister had Alicia's pluck; it might help her deal better with their father. He pressed his calves back onto the wall to enjoy the hot stone just as the door opened. One of the three second-years held up two fingers but as Snape had come out into the corridor, they didn't elucidate further. The information didn't really mean much without knowing what they'd done.

Three notes were fluttering beside the housemaster's head. He snatched at one.

"Third note in a month for repeatedly breaking curfew. Explain." Demanded Snape.

Malcolm did so. He'd been writing a log of the holiday happenings for Archie, and had needed to check some details with the older years.

"You don't check anything at eleven pm, Mister Baddock; you sleep. Bed at eight o'clock tonight. Go."

Malcolm went, and Alicia shuffled forward.

"I'll go to bed at eight too, sir."

Snape read her note and rolled his eyes.

"You'll go to bed at seven." He corrected, "And use the extra hour to think on how badly it will serve you to exhaust my patience."

With that he placed his left leg on a stone protruding from the wall, yanked Alicia over it and gave her four sound whacks. She raced off thinking she'd happily take that anytime in exchange for kicking Malfoy. Snape plucked at the last remaining note, and his air of vague geniality disappeared.

"In."

**oOo**

Causing the ire of other staff members, Crabbe soon learnt, did not promote leniency in his housemaster. He listened to the excoriating lecture and silently cursed himself for being a dolt. Why had he bullied a first-year Hufflepuff? He could easily have earned a note by chucking a rare book on the floor in the library; Madam Pince would've shot one off in a heartbeat. Snape would've given him two at the most. Now he was in the unenviable position of agreeing with every single word Snape said. He _had_ bullied a much younger child. Slytherin _did_ have an awful reputation, and he _had_ added to that. Soon enough, he found himself in the even more unenviable position of being arse-up over the sofa arm.

"I thought I'd cured you of bullying smaller students and stealing sweets long since."

Crabbe wasn't sure if a response was required. He raised his head to gauge matters, and Snape skewered him with a glare.

"You had six as punishment for this in the second year. How many now to dissuade you permanently?"

Name your own punishment? God, how awful! Too few and Snape would triple it, too many and Snape would happily oblige. He hadn't even enjoyed the sweets; the toffee had been hard and covered in fluff. Potter had better be massively bloody grateful.

"More than six, I suppose."

"I suppose you're right, Mister Crabbe."

**oOo**

**Outside the Slytherin common room**

Alicia was filling Harry in on how relaxed and happy Snape was. She could tell he wanted to get away, but she used any excuse to extend her time in his company. Potter was perfection if you asked Alicia. He didn't rib her anything like the other boys but he wasn't soppy, either. He was a good laugh, never tattled, and he'd taught her the dances from the Yule Ball. He was, in short, the perfect gent and though Weasley and Malfoy's plan was set to cause her some misery, she was determined to give it her all.

"That's great, Lissy. Gotta go now, but I'll catch you later."

He hoped that Snape wasn't in such a relaxed mood that he'd already finished with Crabbe. It'd be a wasted opportunity; Crabbe wouldn't have been able to search his allotted area for the cloak. Harry careened around the corner, threw himself at the door, and pounded upon it. He jumped back as the door was flung open.

"_What_?!"

Shitting hell! Relaxed?! What was Alicia going on about? He looked and sounded sodding furious. _And_ he was remaining in the open doorway, not ushering Harry into the corridor and pulling the door closed behind him as they'd imagined. Harry watched Snape turn his head towards Vince.

"We will resume at number seven, Crabbe. You failed to count the eighth stroke."

Bloody hell, he was in a foul mood. Harry looked over at the poor sod, arse up over the sofa. Well, what could Crabbe do? He couldn't look anywhere for the cloak; Snape wasn't budging.

"This had better be important, Potter." Snarled Snape.

As the words came out of his mouth, the enquiry about whether they were allowed to move the furniture in the common room to play British Bulldog sounded anything but urgent. Snape obviously agreed. He grabbed Harry's jumper and pulled him close.

"Get. Out. Of. My. Sight." He hissed, "Or when I've finished with Crabbe, I'll put you over that sofa for a dozen of my finest."

**oOo**

At that very moment Vincent Crabbe had every reason to feel aggrieved. Potter's too-loud knocking had startled him and he'd forgotten to count; Snape was being a complete twat about it and his dozen had now become thirteen. And to top it off, Weasley's plan hadn't bloody worked. The cloak could well be somewhere between the bookcases and the desk, his search area. He wouldn't know; he hadn't had chance to look. However … the news he was now facing thirteen with the slipper had caused him to ponder just how fiery his backside would feel at the end of it … and that thought had given him an idea. A rather effing good idea, he thought.

**oOo**

**Slytherin fourth-year hideaway, the old kitchen linen press**

It was an emergency meeting of all the plotters.

"It's not gonna work. Interrupting Snape just sends him bleeding mental."

"Who'd have thought?!" Asked Malfoy.

Harry ignored him, and continued.

"You know, I think we've only gone and made things worse …"

"How?" Asked Millicent.

"Alicia told me Snape was in a good mood, but you should see him now …"

"I'd rather not." Said Daphne.

No one blamed her. She was the next one up in the cloak-searching campaign. Even a dimwit like Daphne knew her housemaster would be livid if she wasted his time asking for better lighting in the bathrooms so she didn't mess up her eye-liner.

"No." Said Harry, "I own up. I mean, he's not going to Crucio me, is he? Sorry, Ron. We need to call this off."

"No, we don't!"

Crabbe had run direct from the study. He made a strange sight as he stood with red, watery eyes and a massive grin.

"I was leaning against the wall in the corridor. It was warm!"

"So?" Asked Tracey, "We all do that when we're waiting to cop it. What's the big deal?"

"No." Said Crabbe. "I wasn't outside the study. I was outside Snape's rooms. Forget the cloak; that was a barmy idea! We use the floo straight into Snape's quarters!"

"_Bleeding hell_! How did I forget about that?!" Cried Ron.

Malfoy had at least seventeen hilariously nasty responses to that question, but Hermione was giving him the stink eye, so he swallowed his spite and went instead with common sense.

"That part of the plan was always rubbish, but part two's alright. Just make sure it's airtight."


	13. Long Day's Scheming into Night

**A/N: **Thank you so much to Fan, Hamlet and guests! It really is a treat to hear from you; you make my day!

**Long Day's Scheming into Night**

**The old kitchen linen press, 4:15 pm, Tuesday 17****th**** April**

Why wasn't he worried? He should have been bloody shitting it! Harry lay back on the top shelf and tried to squeeze some anxiety into his system. Nope. Wasn't happening. He tried again. Snape's insane … you poked around in his private possessions … you nicked something … you hid it and kept it. Snape goes mental if people are too slow to stand when he walks into the common room; what the bloody hell do you think he'll do if he finds out what you've done? There were some stirrings, but it was all a bit forced.

As well as willing himself to be terrified of Snape, he found amusement watching the constant see-saw of power between Ron and The Prat. Ron came up with a good idea and seized control; The Prat pooh-poohed it on the grounds that it was out of character for the Snakes, and would make Snape suspicious - thus regaining control. Ron hogged the desk; The Prat lorded it in the swivelly desk chair. And so it went. Eventually Malfoy did what he should have done at the beginning, and wrote crib notes on each member of the fourth. This caused a commotion as Zabini snatched them for a gander.

"There's more to me than a love of hair products!" He objected.

"Mmmm … not _too_ much more though, eh Zabini?" Said Millicent.

He immediately turned the crib sheet around and pointed at her entry. If his aim was to upset her, it singularly failed.

"Fags, swearing, flat shoes, dresses like a middle-aged geography teacher - male. Bang up job, Malfoy!" Beamed Millicent.

The notes then did the rounds of all the linen shelf loungers.

"Hissy fits, shoe fetish and sulking?! I'm never _ever_ speaking to you again, Draco!" Stormed Pansy.

"A bit thick?!" Cried Daphne.

"Millicent's poodle?!" Objected Emerald Sykes.

"Bone idle, but not as thick as he seems. Thanks!" Crabbe was chuffed with his entry. "Yours is good too, Greg. You're 'surprisingly gentle', and you're 'deceptive' - even thicker than you seem."

"I am! Good one, Draco." Said Goyle before shovelling two jam tarts into his mouth.

"Not as clever as she thinks. Solid, dependable, attractive, but can't dance as well as Millicent. Oh, Malfoy! I never knew you cared!" Tracey laughed.

Revenge took the form of a piece of parchment currently being passed between the shelves detailing Malfoy's character. It would, informed Millicent, be handed to Weasley when and if the plot was successful. Ron couldn't wait.

Harry looked down at them all. What was once a roomy linen press had been turned into a cosy hideaway, and since into a very squeezy HQ. Malfoy was getting annoyed. He'd tried to send everyone away, telling them he and Weasley needed space to plot properly and that he'd summon them as and when they were needed. Millicent told him to bog off. Malfoy huffed and the others took to peering down at 'The Senior Advisor' and asking 'What's the plan now, then?' every thirty seconds. Ron was in 'the zone', and so wasn't listening, but it was fun to watch Malfoy's mini eruptions.

"What's the plan now, then?!" Asked Zabini.

Before Malfoy could once more spew bile, Ron spoke.

"We wait for AB to check in, then Pansy goes into action." Ron paused a moment to check the crib notes Malfoy had written, "With Daphne, Millicent, Crabbe and Goyle. Actually, it'd be better if it was all of you."

"We don't have to get in to Snape's study, do we?" Asked Daphne.

They didn't. Ron would give them their instructions once AB arrived. Harry noted that the ribbing of Malfoy had stopped, and he returned to his musings on why he wasn't a gibbering wreck. It was, he thought, the novelty of the situation. Being in a fix wasn't a novelty; it was his default position in life. But being in a fix and everyone rallying round to help - and Slytherins at that! - was an absolute first. He was so charmed by it all; that was why he wasn't alternately pulling his hair out and weeping at the thought of Snape discovering his theft. His thoughts turned to Crabbe. Harry was glad he'd been the one to remember the floo system. Then he thought some more.

On the surface, Crabbe's sofa arm revelation simplified matters - but did it really? He for one had no floo powder; who did?

"You got any floo powder?" He called down to Ron.

"Not here."

"How about the rest of you?"

"Nope." Said everyone.

The professors used the floo system to speak to each other, but he couldn't recall them using it for travel within the castle. Perhaps they got about on foot in order to keep an eye on the students? If so, it was a rare genuflection towards pastoral care. Then again, most professors operated on a fixed circuit of private quarters to high table to classroom to staffroom, and plenty of that was via staff corridors. Only nutters like Snape and Filch seemed to prowl the general areas of the castle with much regularity, though Madeye Moody had taken to doing so recently.

"How do we get some?" Asked Harry.

"We sort that one out tomorrow morning." Said Ron, "Too much to do now."

"That's right, Weasley. Potter? Let the senior members of the group schedule matters. We're too busy for all these interruptions." Said Malfoy, pointlessly paraphrasing what Ron had just said.

Harry wondered what deficiency it was that drove The Prat to crave 'special' status. He loathed it; maybe that was why he was so content now against all odds? Might end up on the business end of The Git's slipper - or worse - but he was part of the gang for once, and not the leader. He glanced down to catch Ron giving him a wink and a smile at Malfoy's obsessive self-importance. Harry smiled back. Being together like this was great! He bloody loved Crabbe for suggesting Ron helped.

**oOo**

**Slytherin corridor, 4:30 pm**

"_AAAIIIEEE_! _Oooowwww_! OW! Ow! Ow!"

Snape bolted from his study at the cry. Behind him, his door creaked closed … but not before AB had darted round the corner and sneaked inside. The cry also emptied the common room of its loungers and loafers, who came to gawp. "Move!" Bellowed Snape. They did, and revealed a whining, pouting Pansy lying in a puddle at the foot of the spiral staircase.

"She tripped." Said Daphne.

"How many times have I told you all not to come thundering down those stairs like a herd of elephant?"

"I _didn't_!" Objected Pansy, "It's these shoes you make us wear! They're so big and clumpy I can hardly pick my feet up when I walk!"

"Be quiet, you silly girl." Said Snape, stooping down to check the ankle at the centre of the drama.

**oOo**

**Snape's study, 4:30 pm**

GOYLE, G; GREENGRASS, A; GREENGRASS, D; LARKSMEADE, B; LATIMER, N; LAWSON, Q; MALFOY, D; MAYHEW, A. The Head Prefect slid his wand from his sleeve as he took out the last file. A simple error fix spell saw the date at the top of Alicia's file change from _8__th__ June, 1984_ to _18__th__ April, 1984_. He looked into the cabinet to replace the file and saw the odd shimmer of Potter's cloak - Snape's new hiding place, obviously. AB pushed it further under the folders, and hotfooted it into the corridor, standing aside as Snape helped Pansy to the common room. He gave her a surreptitious nod as she passed. From there, it was up to the kitchens and straight back to the linen press HQ.

**oOo**

**Slytherin common room, 4:35 pm**

Snape deposited Pansy on the chaise near the enchanted window along with an instruction to cease all whining. He took a look around the room trying to find complaint, but all he could come up with was Hugo Van Den Berg tapping Colonel Mustard from _Cluedo_! annoyingly on the table. Even Snape couldn't issue lines for such a minor act, so he settled instead for a swipe around the back of Hugo's head. Then he looked vaguely at a loss, but not for long.

The 'Snape swoop' was a beautiful sight to behold. The man rapidly pirouetted on one foot, his gown billowing out with centrifugal force, much like the glossy black plumage of a Superb Bird of Paradise desperate to entrance its chosen mate; then lowered his beak until his face was within an inch. Harry experienced it whilst going to retrieve the backgammon board.

"There are two things I despise in a person …"

"Only two, sir?!" Asked a shocked Harry.

The beak remained static, but the eyebrow arched.

"Lying …"

"Oh, yes." Nodded Harry amiably.

"Have you apologised to Professor McGonagall?"

"Not yet, sir."

"And _prevarication_."

"I'll do it tomorrow, sir."

The eyebrow went higher.

"Later today?"

Higher still.

"Now?"

"An excellent suggestion, Mister Potter. Begone."

**oOo**

**The window seat outside Professor McGonagall's study, 4:50 pm**

"Harry!"

"Neville!"

Shamefully, it had taken until that moment to realise just how much he'd missed Neville. Neville Longbottom was a bit like the hallway hat stand. When he wasn't there, you moved on to something else, flinging your coat over the bannister, or dumping it on a chair. But when he reappeared, you realised how good it was to have him there. Harry had taken his time coming up, a bit nervous of who he might meet. But looking up into the kind, honest face, he instantly relaxed.

"What are you doing here?" Asked Neville.

"Got into a bit of bother; Snape's sent me up to apologise to McGonagall."

"I see."

Harry knew that Neville didn't see at all, but he wasn't a person for prying. More than that, Neville was the one person Harry knew who genuinely didn't want to hear about trouble. He never gloated or gossiped.

"You're really brave, you know … going down there and living with … you know …"

"Snape?"

"Yeah, him. I think I would've run away."

"First week was tricky, but since then it's … well, it's been surprisingly good."

Harry saw relief, plus a fair dollop of amazement. Then Neville eased himself onto the window seat with Harry. Old friends catching up, should've done this sooner, thought Harry. Neville filled him in on his news and Harry plucked out a few choice anecdotes about Slytherin life.

"What's Malfoy like?"

"Up and down. He can be a good laugh, and the next minute he turns into a prat. To be honest, I think he's a bit lonely."

"We all are, aren't we? Me, you, Hermione and Malfoy too, I suppose. We're all only children. It's funny though …"

"What?" Asked Harry.

"Well, we don't have anyone at home, brothers and sisters. I mean, Gran's does her best but …"

"My family doesn't!"

"Gran neither!" Admitted Neville with a laugh, "So you'd think Hogwarts would be great for us, loads of mates to hang around with. But it doesn't always work out like that …"

No it didn't - but it had done since he'd been in Slytherin.

"You should come down one night, just to hang out."

Neville looked stricken.

"_No_! I mean … umm … thanks and everything … I just … erm …"

"It's okay; I understand. Not now then, but one day."

"You want to stay there, don't you?" Asked Neville.

Did he? For the rest of his time in Hogwarts? Harry hadn't even broached that question with himself. He fudged his answer.

"It depends on Dumbledore's plans, Nev. Everything's up to him."

Then a thought occurred to Harry.

"Hey? You couldn't come and distract McGonagall for a bit while I'm in there, could you?"

Neville's mopey mien brightened.

"You just watch me! I've missed getting involved in your schemes!"

**oOo**

**McGonagall's study, 5:00 pm**

McGonagall sat stony-faced as Harry trotted out his apology. He was sorry for all the trouble he'd caused, sorry to have worried her, sorry not to have had more faith in all the people around him. It was a good apology; he knew it. Yet still she sat impassively. He trawled around in his brain for something more to say.

"I'm sorry I didn't say thank you for giving me the Gryffindor password."

That was a lame thing to apologise for, but he had to fill the silence with something. She gave a little cough, then leaned over her desk to take his hand.

"I've always thought the best apology of all is to change the way you behave. And on that note …"

There came an urgent clattering on her door, followed by Neville calling '_Professor_? _Professor_?!'. McGonagall gave an exasperated sigh before marching to her door.

"What is it, Longbottom?"

"I think I've made The Fat Lady leave for good this time! I forgot the password and got her muddled; she got huffy and just stomped out of her frame. I can't get in!"

"If this happens again, Mr Longbottom, I shall have your bed moved out here in the corridor. If you can't remember a simple password, then you'll forfeit the right to a place in the common room. Come with me, and don't mope or dawdle!"

Good one Neville, thought Harry. Then it struck him that McGonagall had spoken exactly as he would've expected Snape to. Thinking of Snape, he shot up over to her fireplace and lifted the lid off a dusty china pot and poured a good fistful of McGonagall's floo powder into each of his pockets. No sooner had he sat back down, than she reappeared.

"I'm sorry, Harry. Where were we? Ah yes, you were on the point of promising to share your worries in the future, weren't you?"

"Yes, Professor. I will."

"And I was on the point of giving you your punishment."

_What_?!

"Professor Snape … he um … well he sort of …"

"I'm sure he did, but that doesn't negate my right to level punishment, does it?"

"I suppose not."

Oh, shit. What if she gave him detention tomorrow night? She was always giving detentions, and they were _really_ long. That would completely bollocks up the plan; how long could they keep Snape distracted from his bookshelves and noticing the note was missing? He couldn't believe that less than an hour ago, he'd been in the linen press trying to conjure up anxiety at his fate. Now he was facing McGonagall and waiting to hear of a five-hour detention, probably something life-threatening, like harvesting acromantula eggs. He'd be doing that, and Snape would be inspecting his notes. Harry could already hear the swishing of the cane as it came whistling arse-bound towards him. He remained lost in thought, weighing up whether to accept the now inevitable caning, or outfox Snape by sacrificing himself to the acromantulas first.

"Harry?"

"Sorry, yes?"

"I want you to know, young man, that your punishment will last until the end of the school year. You will have afternoon tea with me every Sunday at four. I intend to force you to eat treacle tarts and amuse me with the things you get up to in Slytherin. And if you dare miss a week," She warned with a glint in her eye, "I shall tell Professor Snape you told me how he weeps at the end of _Charlotte's Web_! You see,_ I_ can be Slytherin too!"

"Does he?!"

"Rumour has it he almost flooded the staffroom one day!"

Harry loved McGonagall! He promised he'd be there next Sunday, then went to get ready for supper.

**oOo**

**Kitchen corridor linen press, 4:40 pm**

A quick rap on the door and AB poked his head around.

"Guess what I discovered? Alicia's birthday is tomorrow!"

"_Yes_!" Said Ron.

It was the green light needed for them to start finessing stage two of the plan. Everything hinged on Alicia's birthday, and finally things were going smoothly.

"It's Tuesday. You know what that means."

Malfoy didn't have a clue. The Weasel had been getting cocky about his plotting again, and he was getting fed up.

"It's Wednesday tomorrow?" He sulked.

"McGonagall's the professor on duty after curfew. She doesn't miss a trick. The plan's off to a good start."

It was; Malfoy was sure of it. But at that moment he couldn't focus on the plan. He was subsumed by memory … those furiously clicking heels, and him scampering to keep up with her. The pinch-hold she had on his ear, and how it twisted each time she turned one of the many corners down to the dungeons. The mere mention of the crabby old bat being on curfew duty sent him right back to his first year. Bloody Hagrid and his mania for all things dangerous, it had all been his fault - or maybe that of the knight errant, Sir Potter of Pointless Chivalry?

The 'Night of Norbert' was front and centre in Malfoy's mind. He hadn't returned to the dungeons when McGonagall caught him, he'd lurked out of sight determined to see Potter face justice - and he had. Filch had ridden to the rescue and cornered Granger, Longbottom and Potter. He'd taken them to McGonagall, who'd gone completely apeshit. It had been brilliant; Malfoy was sure expulsion was just around the corner for them. Only like most of his scheming, it backfired. Shortly after he was found again by McGonagall. Her fingertips tugging at his earlobe down all those flights of stairs … and then what had been at the bottom of them? An apoplectic Snape. Merlin! What a sad and sorry end to the evening that had been …

"Problem?" Asked Ron, bemused by Malfoy's sudden silence.

"Could be."

Malfoy shared his memory, keeping quiet that he'd got into trouble over Norbert. He'd been humiliated enough at the detention in the forest; he wasn't going to admit his first year plotting had led to a worse punishment than the Gryffindors received. But Ron put two and two together, and laughed anyway.

"You copped it from Snape as well as the detention in the forest?! What did Snape do to you?!"

"Sod off, Weasel; I'm not telling you. But it bloody hurt!"

"Still sore?!" Goaded Ron.

"You're missing the point; Alicia will get the same treatment if McGonagall catches her and takes her down to Snape."

Ron sobered. For all Ginny had annoyed him when she was little, he'd always liked to keep her out of trouble with their parents; maybe Malfoy felt the same about Alicia? And their plan did involve Alicia laying her head fairly and squarely on the chopping block.

"It is mean asking her to do this, isn't it? Let's think of something else."

But of course it wasn't Draco's meagre conscience that was troubling him.

"Don't be a wimp, Weasley; we're not ditching the plan now. If she didn't get in trouble tonight, then she would soon enough. But if he reads her the riot act, which he will, she might blurt out exactly what she was doing - and then we're all screwed … Potter's exam paper-nicking, and the plotting, it'll all come out. And you know what Snape will say we did to Alicia? He'll say we bullied her into joining in. Crabbe's thirteen with the slipper? _Pfft_! Walk in the park compared to what he'll do to us."

"What um … what will he do? Er … what would he do if we um … used Alicia - 'cos I don't think we should anymore."

Draco Malfoy had no wish whatsoever to get on the wrong side of Snape. It was never pleasant. Whether he stood you in the sodding corner of the common room, so you looked like one of the idiot first-years; had you weeding the lawns of the castle for hours on end like a bloody muggle serf; filled up hours of your free time with lines, or set your backside ablaze. He was determined they would all get through this scot-free; he was _not_ going to be punished for rescuing Golden Boy, and Alicia was their best bet. Weasley had come up with a good plan there. He had to stamp out this burst of high-mindedness - _and_ have a little fun in the process.

"Aiding and abetting the theft of personal property, _his_ personal property? That's the cane right there. Just by joining in with us you've earned that. Of course, McGonagall _may_ try to stop him, then again, she did place Potter down here, didn't she? I mean, she must know how he operates …"

Ron nodded in agreement. He, Seamus and Dean had even joked about it. They'd all heard the rumours of how Snape ruled his house; now that bit of treachery was coming back to haunt him.

"Our problem is that as soon as we took the oath, we were up to our necks in it. Now Alicia's our best way out … but if we get caught … Oh, Merlin! If we get caught!"

Get someone rattled enough and they'll swallow anything, especially when conveyed in contemplative tone.

"I know Snape, and he'll be humiliated by our scheming. He doesn't take humiliation well … he pays it back. I'm thinking all of us in the main hall. Probably have us standing facing the wall all through dinner, let everyone notice us and wonder what's going on. They'll all stay to find out what's happening, then he'll do it. Only thing to worry about then is if it's better to be the first in the queue, or the last? Not that we'll get a choice; he'll just call us to go and bend over the high table … but if Alicia's blabbed … he'll double whatever we have coming."

It worked. Ron was so white, he was almost transparent. You dick Weasley, thought Malfoy; as if Dumbledore would ever let Snape treat Gryffindors like that. The balance had tipped in Malfoy's favour and he took charge.

"Alicia needs a higher calling for this endeavour. She needs to take the oath."

"Will that be enough?"

"She's a first-year who's forever riling up the others so they don't speak to her, or tease her. She feels hard done by and lonely. We're going to give her the chance to swear a secret oath; join in with a fourth-year caper, scam her housemaster, and, at the end of it, insist she writes up her adventure in _The Slytherin Bible_, so she can lord it over the rest of the lower school. She wouldn't give up that chance even if Snape put her under the _Imperius_."

"Slytherin Bible?"

"Forget about it. You're not reading it."

Slytherins, Ron noted, seemed to place a remarkable importance on the swearing of oaths.

**oOo**

**Slytherin Prefects' study, 5:00 pm**

Malfoy was right. Alicia bloody loved all the hoo-ha of oath-taking. Of course, they'd ramped up the ceremony. Sophie had found a length of dark green cloth and laid it upon AB's desk, along with seven green candles. AB stood behind the desk, flanked by the other prefects. Malfoy and Ron led Alicia to him, then backed away.

"Do you solemnly swear to be a keeper of Potter's secret?" Asked AB.

"I do." Answered a wide-eyed Alicia.

"Do you solemnly swear to keep secret all plans to aid Potter?"

"I do."

"And do you solemnly swear to aid Potter in the plan, never to falter - even in the face of Professor Snape?"

"I do."

"Let all step forth for the laying on of hands," Said Pucey, who was enjoying the theatre every bit as much as Alicia, "For the hour of the oath is upon us!"

A bit much, thought Malfoy. But Alicia _loved_ it. Just as all hands were laid on the green cloth, Sophie Blishwick pulled away,

"We've never asked this of a first-year before, Peter. Perhaps it's too much for Alicia?"

A carefully choreographed move, and Alicia fell for it hook, line and sinker.

"I can do this! I'm not _seven_!"

Sophie gave a thoughtful nod and replaced her hand - only to see Alicia snatch hers away.

"But you'll have to come clean about all of the plan, or I'm not doing it - and you need me; the clock's ticking!"

"Little rat!" Muttered Malfoy.

"And I want to go into that room next to the kitchens again - when you're all there."

"Don't push it, pipsqueak."

But she had the upper hand; they all knew it. They apprised her fully of the plan, and she promptly annoyed Malfoy further by shrugging, sucking the air through her teeth, humming and ha-ing, and finally declaring the plan was 'mediocre but should just about work'. Malfoy ducked down to her level, and snarled in her ear, "I hope Snape gives you an almighty paddling - and if he doesn't, _I_ will!"

"The oath?" Reminded Pucey.

Latimer produced a card edged ornately in black for Alicia to read, upon which the oath was written.

"_All shall aid, and none shall speak without_."

She was on board, and Ron's palpitations over what Snape would deem suitable retribution began to subside. But well-placed fears aside, even he had to admit that this plotting was a lark. There'd been plenty of adventures with Harry and Hermione, but being with more people made it great fun. There was strength in numbers, he decided. It somehow lessened the fear factor, yet the thrill remained the same. He wasn't sure he was ready to go back to Gryffindor and laud the Snakes, but he was having a fine, old time.

**oOo**

**Tuesday supper, the Great hall, 6:00 pm**

Tuesday night was rummy night for the lower school. They'd all swept out early from supper along with Snape. As she'd walked past him, Malfoy had given Alicia a poke and a nod. She'd nodded back. The other years had taken it as their cue to go and do things their housemaster might not be entirely in accord with, and soon enough, only the fourth remained seated at the long table.

"Hand it over." Said Crabbe.

"I want this!" Said Zabini, placing a protective arm around his bowl of sticky toffee pudding.

"Can I just say one word? '_Thirteen'_."

"You got thirteen because you bullied a Hufflepuff firstie; why would you do that?! I mean, _why_?! You should've gone the whole hog and kicked some baby ducklings while you were at it!"

But Crabbe was implacable.

"Thirteen, Zabini. Hand it over."

"Oh, let him have it Blaise. He's not going to give up." Said Daphne.

Crabbe continued to work his way through the entire fourth's puddings, but he didn't get Malfoy's without a grumble.

"Probably copped such a mega-whacking on purpose - just so you could stuff your face."

They all loved sticky toffee pudding; it wasn't an easy thing to give up.

"What can I say?" Asked Crabbe, "I'm shrewd and sagacious!"

"Talking of 'shrewd', or someone who thinks he's shrewd, look at what I found."

Millicent pulled from her back pocket the screwed-up parchment that Ron had tossed when he'd jettisoned the first plan of searching Snape's office and study for the cloak. She smoothed it out on the table top.

"We're not doing that plan again, are we?" Asked Daphne.

"No, but take a look at it and tell me what's missing." Replied Millicent.

"Put it away, Millicent!" Ordered Malfoy, "We don't have time for this."

"Oh, I think we do!"

Harry peered down at the parchment and began mentally ticking off the names. He was the first to notice.

"You didn't write your own name on, Malfoy!" Cried Harry, "You had the rest of us thinking up bonkers ideas to get into Snape's study, and you didn't even include yourself!"

"_What_?! Our backsides were on the line, and you were sitting pretty all the time?!" Asked Tracey.

Everyone sent steely glares to Malfoy. He began twitching.

"Look here … um … well, of course my name isn't bloody well there! How could it be?! I knew I'd have to go wading in after the rest of you had stuffed up your turns!"

"So, you were our last line of defence, you mean?" Probed Millicent.

"Exactly." Said Malfoy, "Got it in one. I was the reserve that goes in to sort out your mess!"

She looked around the table at the others. There was eye-rolling aplenty, and Harry wondered if Malfoy was ever going to change.

"Okay … we're going to hold you to that."

Malfoy's brain went a mile a minute, going through the plan and trying to figure out what Millicent could be getting at. Couldn't think of it, and he gave up. Crabbe released a humungous belch, and the group retired to the common room.

**oOo**

**Slytherin common room, 6:25 pm**

The card playing was still in progress when they went in. Harry watched Snape alternately bragging and cheating, only to be instantly found out by the eagle-eyed lower school.

"_Sir_! That's not a flush! You're cheating again!"

"You don't want to exhaust our patience, sir!" Added Alicia cheekily.

"Indeed not, or I'll have to send myself to bed at seven!"

"_Seven_!" Snorted Astoria, "Blimey, Alicia! Only babies go to bed then!"

"Whereas you'll go to bed at eight tonight, Miss Greengrass."

Astoria glowered.

"Remove the pout and apologise, or I'll make it seven for you, too."

"Sorry Lissy."

For Alicia's part, Snape needn't have bothered scolding Tory. She didn't give a hoot about the teasing; she was far too focussed on the plan. Though she did wonder if at the end of it, she'd be sent to bed at seven for the rest of the year. Ah well, Potter was worth it. The storm in the teacup calmed, and the game of rummy continued. Harry realised he'd love to join in; Snape was good fun when he was mucking around. It didn't happen often. Generally speaking, the man was a humourless tyrant. But then, even that was frequently fun. He thought back to all the times Snape had had them lined up on the steps to try and winkle out the culprit of some infraction or other. Most times he'd failed; the Snakes had stood firm, and Snape had sent them all off to bed early with the chilling promise that even a murmur whilst sleeping would earn six of the best. He never followed through.

Those nights had been some of the most enjoyable; people seemed spurred on to race from dorm to dorm, daring each other to do this and that, sharing tall tales and anecdotes, and cooking up food on bluebell flames. They always ended around midnight with Pucey or Latimer racing along the corridors warning them Snape was about to appear. Did he ever? Harry didn't know. They'd always cleared up and nodded off instantly. He half wondered now if Snape hadn't been in on it with his prefects. That was the thing about Snape. He didn't need his Snakes to like him; he was quite content for them to rail against him as long as they did it together. The penny dropped; that was the reason for the Slytherin Oath. If they reneged on that, The Bloody Baron told Snape and they all copped it. Unity was everything in Slytherin. And, of course, it meant that they didn't just like Snape; they bloody loved him.

It'd been a good day, but a long one. Harry was exhausted. He felt like jumping on the sofa with his shoes on in hopes that The Git would send him to bed early, too. Instead he kicked off his shoes and put his feet up on the window seat. Joy! Tracey Davis wanted to sit there, too. She picked up his feet and plopped them in her lap. That meant something, didn't it? When a girl did that it was code for 'please snog me'. Surely? But no sooner had thoughts of a long and blissful life at Tracey's side entered his head than he remembered he hadn't changed his socks for two days. Were his feet whiffy? He tried to surreptitiously sniff them from afar. He couldn't be sure, and slowly pulled them off Tracey's lap. She grabbed them.

"It's okay, leave them there. They're not heavy; they're dinky!"

'Dinky'?! Harry barely swallowed his groan … death by adjective … He withdrew into the foetal position, and once again looked at Snape and the lower school. The real importance of the plotting hit him like a quaffle to the solar plexus. It wasn't the thought of punishment should he be found out; his sneaking around in Snape's rooms now shamed him. The one non-public area of Snape's life and he'd violated it. Not only that, he'd uncovered a secret. That Harry didn't understand the secret would be of no comfort to Snape; how could he be expected to believe that? Bloody hell, thought Harry, I don't want Snape to think badly of me; how the hell did that happen?

"Where do you think you're going?"

"I just need to pop out somewhere, sir."

The rummy game had finished, and Harry had been oblivious to the fact, so deep in thought was he. Alicia had been stopped by Snape on her way to the common room door.

"No. It's turned quarter to seven, and you need to get ready for bed, Miss Mayhew."

"But sir! I still have nearly fifteen minutes!"

Snape said nothing, but she still got the message. Refusing to be completely compliant, Alicia sidled over to the window seat and made a show of talking to Harry, Tracey and Malfoy to eke out her remaining few minutes.

"Oh!" Said Harry, "I still have something of yours."

He pulled out her little jar of chest rub, and pressed it into her chubby hand.

"You have no idea how grateful I am you remembered that." Said Alicia with feeling.

"You're trying my patience, Miss Mayhew. Bed, at once."

Malfoy stood in front of her as she made her way to the dorm stairs.

"Slytherin expects." He said.

**oOo**

**Dumbledore's office, 11:25 pm**

"I am aware, of course, that you are a young man. No doubt replete with a young man's urges and weaknesses …"

The conversation was taking an alarming turn; Snape feared any moment Albus would pull out a pair of dolls and endeavour to show him just how easily little witches and wizards could be made in moments of weakness.

"Ah! The springtime of life! Alas, I find myself ambling to the end of autumn and knocking on winter's door. But how well I remember the ease with which those urges can overtake us!"

"_Headmaster_! My request has nothing to do with any 'urges'."

"Is that so, my boy? You see, I _do_ hear things from time to time …"

"She will leave straight after the task is accomplished, not a moment later. No one will see her."

"Why her?" Asked the headmaster.

"It needs to be someone he isn't familiar with."

"Of course … poor child. Very well, Severus. I shall relax the wards, but only for a minute. She must be ready."

"Thank you, headmaster." Said Snape as he galloped for the door.

But his speedy getaway was thwarted.

"And Severus? As my old professors were wont to say, 'if you can't be good, be careful!'"

Snape gave a shudder. Pastoral care from Albus was causing his dinner to climb back up his oesophagus. However, the manic twinkling told Snape that Albus wasn't finished yet.

"And as I and my chums were wont to tell each other, 'if you can't be careful, be good!'"

Snape left Albus tittering over his word play and went to seek a corner to safely vomit in.

**oOo**

**Castle corridors, 11:50 pm**

The castle after curfew was a beautiful place. Strangely wondrous to walk down corridors that only a few hours earlier had been teeming with a mass of raucous children. Not all raucous, of course. The shy and retiring, the homesick and the lonely preferred to people the alcoves and the forgotten corners. Snape cast a lumos into any such place he walked past. No one tonight, but he'd found them before. Contrary to popular Hogwarts' belief, he didn't give detentions of splicing newt gizzards to sad children. A pause in his stride and a raised eyebrow was enough to have them scuttling to their beds. Nor did he give them to the soppy, acne-riddled fools so infatuated that they'd stood pining long past curfew once their latest true love had disappeared behind a common room door. He simply sent them to bed with a reassurance that their all-consuming ardour was most probably unrequited, and that true love would likely elude them to their dying day.

The newt gizzards were saved for the mean and obnoxious. He knew them from his classes. The stairwells and the balconies were their spot of choice. From there, they picked off the weak; jostled and elbowed them on the stairs while pouring scornful comments in their ears. Severus _relished_ finding those students out after curfew. And now Crabbe had re-joined their ranks. Odd. Of all the Slytherins likely to falter, he wouldn't have placed Crabbe amongst them. Had he been …? No, Severus told himself; have faith in the boy. He was _not_ his father.

But the worry wasn't Crabbe; Snape was certain that had been an aberration. The worry was what Pomona would tattle to Minerva in the staffroom. The Slytherins hadn't changed, she'd say. The second Snape was away from the castle, they reverted to type; Snape could hear it all now. That was why he'd been so hard on the boy, and, despite his love of silent corridors, that was why he was now walking the castle. Minerva was on duty; he had to breech the wall she'd built between them.

**oOo**

**Fifteen minutes later**

No wonder he hadn't heard the click of rapid heels. Minerva was slumped on a sofa outside the charms classrooms looking every one of her years - and more. He sat down next to her. She edged away. He shuffled closer.

"Stop that!" She snapped with a slap to his thigh, "We're not speaking, remember?"

"Minerva," Sighed Snape, "Thus far these holidays I've borne Pomona's prattle about Puffapods needing scarves and mittens; Poppy's ludicrous suggestions I take up lace-making as a substitute for smoking; Albus coming dangerously close to explaining the birds and the bees to me, and Sybill's endless requests to read my aura. Damn it! I've even proofread a chapter of Filius' book! We _are_ speaking, and if you refuse, I'm placing you under an _Imperius_. I _need_ you, Minerva."

"Hm! You speak to me when you need me."

"Yes, because that's what friends do. They need each other; they ask for help. It took me long enough to learn it, but there it is."

He let that thought linger a few moments.

"What could possibly be worse than how we started off? I was an ex-Death Eater. You believed I hadn't changed. We got past that; can't we get past this? And if we can't, then what was the point of all we've been through?"

He reached out and took her wrinkled hand in his.

"Tell me you don't trust me; tell me you think I'm still Dark. Tell me that my Slytherins are beyond redemption, and I'll leave you alone."

"Oh, Severus! You think yourself so clever!"

His heart left his chest and settled unpleasantly in his stomach. Was she really going to write off their friendship? Life in Hogwarts without her at his side filled him with dread.

"So clever, and you can't see what you mean to me …"

A glimmer of hope?

"You were my salvation …"

Pardon?

"I was broken when Elphinstone died. I thought I'd got over it, but I hadn't. When you came, I gave in to bitterness, rage, slander and malice. You pulled me out of those depths. I despised you for it at first; bitterness is an oddly comfortable place to be, isn't it? People can't let you down because you loathe them anyway; they can't fall any further."

She was talking about him, as well as herself. The preacher's daughter delivering a righteous sermon … One of these days he was going to have to face up to his adolescent hatred of James Potter; he knew it.

"It is." He answered.

He took a chance and moved his arm to around her shoulder. She didn't object, and he pulled her in tight. Give more, you fool.

"My Slytherins were my salvation; I know how much it means. I'm glad I was yours."

"I'm a stern teacher …" She said.

"I remember."

"If my students are too dull-witted to learn, I make them copy out the lesson again and again."

"I do the same. Longbottom should direct his insufferable moping at you; I only followed your example."

"Oh, you were never dull-witted; you were pig-headed, but the same punishment applied. Perhaps it still should. Perhaps I should have you write twenty feet of _Minerva McGonagall believes in Severus Snape, and knows his Slytherins to be good_?"

"Then what's all this about?"

"_Me_! It's about _me_. You're not Dark, but the world is growing Dark. Things are happening that I don't understand; it frightens me. You need me, but I need you; did you ever think of that? I need to know what's happening. Albus speaks in riddles; I can't trust the Ministry. I don't know what I'm doing any more."

She was right. In a world such as this, the two of them had to share with unstinting honesty. He waved his wand, cast an _Imperturbable Charm_, and told her everything. Everything. What he'd done as a Death Eater. The reason Albus saved him from Azkaban, the mission to protect Potter and his own mission to save his Snakes. He showed her his mark, the tattoo standing rigid and proud of his flesh. He shared his fear that The Dark Lord's return was imminent. Such awful truths, and yet she felt relief. She knew what was happening, and she could take action. Terror lay ahead, she was certain, but nothing like the terror of muffled uncertainty and blind dread.

"What are we going to do?"

"We're going to end a man's life, and scare a child half to death."

She was on the point of gasping when she collected herself. This was her friend; she _did_ trust him.

"Of course we are." She said, "There really is no alternative."

She gave her word to help him in his plans, and his heart returned to its rightful place.

"He came to apologise, you know."

"Potter? He'd better have made a good fist of it."

"Or what? You'll give him more lines?!"

"He told you?"

"Couldn't resist! You are good with them, giving punishment lines that make them snigger. I'd never have thought of that."

"Don't think too well of me. I give them a lot more than lines …"

"I know that, too."

**oOo**

The _Imperturbable_ was dis-spelled, and Minerva left to continue her rounds. Snape stayed a while on the sofa thinking through the import of their new accord. That's when he saw her - sneaking across the third-floor corridor for the stairs. The little madam … quite obviously she heard Minerva heading in the opposite direction and assumed she was safe. Whatever it was he'd forbidden her from doing earlier, she'd taken it upon herself to do now. He cast a silencing charm on the soles of his shoes and followed stealthily.

At the newel post of the second level, he took her arm. She gasped, then scowled but offered no explanation as to her night-time roaming. She was still unforthcoming in the dungeon corridor. Alicia Mayhew was a wearisome child, and Snape was determined to have her dealt with as quickly as possible. He skipped his study, heading straight for the empty common room.

"Last chance. Explain yourself."

She shrugged. He did the same before turning her over his knee and ensuring his tacit disapproval stayed with her until she fell asleep. When he stood her up, she barked out 'sorry' in her most obstreperous tone, and stomped off to the dorms. He let it go. This had been a good night; Alicia Mayhew's antics were not going to prevent him from ending his day on a high note.

**oOo**

**First-year girls' dorms**

Not too bad, thought Alicia, as she made a nest of her pillows and eiderdown and snuggled up in the middle. Good job, too; in her excitement, she'd forgotten her chest rub. Her bottom now had that uncomfortable itchiness that takes the place of the abating sting, but Alicia was such an old hand at this, she barely noticed. She would, however, be laying it on with a trowel should Weasley and Malfoy ask. She commended herself on tweaking Weasley's plan. He'd ordered her to run slap bang into McGonagall; she was bloody glad she hadn't. Snape would have been seething. Sleepiness took hold and her recollections came to her without order. She and the Snakes were Snape's salvation! Salvation from what? She didn't care. She never realised he and McGonagall were such good friends, but, she decided, it felt nice knowing they were. Maybe she should try a bit harder in McGonagall's class? Nah! And McGonagall thought the Snakes were good! Well you silly old cow, of course we are! More than that, she hadn't heard; one of them must have cast a muffling charm. But she had seen the arm around McGonagall's shoulder. She sniggered now at her earlier horror that they were going to lunge at each other for a snog. Ewww! McGonagall and Snape snogging. The sight of that would have caused a rapid reappearance of her sticky toffee pudding.

Slytherin, Alicia decided, was abso-fucking-lutely perfect. Nestled in her bed, she let her eyes droop as she pondered the following day. There was a tiny niggle when she considered duping Snape. Then again, he'd smacked her backside frigging hard, so maybe she didn't feel too bad. Always good to level the score. As her eyelids fluttered, another tweak to the plan came to mind. She'd keep that one quiet, too. It was a special one, just for Harry. Drifting onto the path of dreams with Harry Potter for company … life didn't get any better than that for Alicia Mayhew.


	14. Hope and Friendship

**A/N 1: **As ever, thanks to Guests, Fan and Hamlet! It's a treat to read your thoughts.

**A/N 2:** There's one more chapter to go for this current story. I might be a bit late posting, as I need to go away for work.

**A/N 3: **Hope you enjoy it!

**Chapter 14: Hope and Friendship**

**Snape's rooms, 8:10 am**

Fear, posited Snape to his reflection, keeps you awake while hope lulls you in its arms all night long. Snape hoped Minerva had slept well; her promise and her friendship had given him this gift - and now he was ready for anything. Look out Pomona with your tedious twittering over Puffapods! Poppy? Keep those lace-making bobbins away from me, or I'll insert them in such a place even a certified Mediwitch can't retrieve them! And read my aura now, Sybill - _go on_! Snape felt _stupendous_. Even the Dark Mark staring back at him from the bathroom mirror couldn't drag him down. Forget Potter. At this rate he'd be taking on The Dark Lord himself in a bare knuckle fight!

He ran his fingers over the tattoo. Regret was self-indulgent hogwash. He felt like getting another tattoo on his right arm: _the frailty of youthful nitwits_. And then another on his chest: _it happened; move on_. And talking of youthful nitwits, he was late for the morning inspection.

**oOo**

**Inspection, Slytherin common room**

Snape was different today, thought Harry; he was somehow 'lighter'. For a start, the man had strolled into inspection late. He was usually annoyingly prompt. At the latest he was five minutes early, often looking pointedly towards the fireplace clock and back at those who had the temerity to turn up merely on time. _And_ he was smirking. Imperceptible to the lower years, but the others could see it as clear as day. Right there. The left hand corner of his mouth wasn't in symmetry with the right; it was raised a fraction of a millimetre. As they all listened to the stomping coming down the girls' stairs, the facial indulgence righted itself but Harry could see the effort it had taken.

Snape gave a curt nod as Pansy and Daphne reappeared. The pair had spent last night shortening their skirts until they were six inches above the knee. But even this, Harry noted, didn't seem to have dissuaded Snape from his chosen path of gaiety and mirth.

"Anything else we should put on, sir?" Huffed Pansy.

Despite her belligerent tone, Snape merely shook his head.

"Veil? Habit? Crucifix? Wimple?" Added Pansy sotto voce.

Not sotto voce enough.

"And what is this religious order you are proposing to start, Miss Parkinson? The Order of the Brazen Hussy? Or perhaps, The Sacred Order of Corner Contemplators?"

But just as he would normally close in on a transgressor to go in for the kill, Snape turned to admire the unusually well turned out Vincent Crabbe. Vincent was all out to impress Snape after the Hufflepuff bullying shemozzle.

"Top marks, Crabbe. Contrition is the surest way to a housemaster's heart."

Crabbe earned himself a shoulder squeeze, and promptly beamed effusively. Pansy snarled in his direction, and Snape caught it.

"You have ten minutes with which to pout and sulk to your heart's content, Miss Parkinson. A second longer, however, will earn you an invitation to my study. Now, my little nest of vipers! A fine breakfast to set us up for this glorious day is in order, I believe!"

Alarm gripped the fourth-year. What was the glorious day? Alicia's birthday? Had Snape for some reason checked her altered file already? Was he going to wish her happy birthday and bung some green and white Slytherin pyjamas in her direction, like he did for most birthdays? What then? Someone had to ask. The 'Senior Advisor' shouldered the task.

"Why is today glorious, sir?"

"Every day during term time, Mister Malfoy, I am sentenced by cruel Mistress Fate to teach children. Vile creatures - in case you're not aware. Hufflepuffs who fret, whimper and pine over the fate of disembowelled newts - but _not_ this day. Ravenclaw upstarts who, from their position of splendid ignorance, question every stage of a potion - but _not_ this day. Crass Gryffindors who turn the noble art of potion-making into a race against the Slytherins …"

Snape paused to seek out Harry and raise an eyebrow, daring him to object. Harry, however, had his measure. Snape, for whatever reason, was in a stonking good mood. Harry looked at the man, shook his head sadly and tut-tutted.

"You know sir, you bring it on yourself; you're far too tender-hearted and soft on students! Everyone says so!"

All the Snakes laughed, and Snape's good mood continued. Thus, it was only a moderately painful cuff he gave Harry before continuing.

" … but _not_ this day. And, of course, I have my kind, meek little Snakes whose sole aim is to please their adored housemaster; except, of course, when it _isn't_." He paused again; this time to rap Harriett Walsh and Arno Van Den Berg with his wand. "But even though Professor Dumbledore in his ineffable wisdom has granted you leave to plague my holidays, this day is one of those joyous few when, if I so wish, I need not speak to a child, nor even look in their direction. And I aim to enjoy it! Begone! All of you!"

The Snakes paused a few moments to take in the sight of their unusually jolly housemaster before trooping off to breakfast. But just shy of the common room door, a raised voice stopped them.

"Sir? Have you forgotten anything?" Asked AB.

Had he? Snape didn't believe so. As far as he was aware there were no early bedtimes to hand out, no pending discussions in his study, no request for lines to be submitted to him. It was a rare day, a day without the shadow of misbehaviour. Perhaps that was AB's point?

"It's a red letter day for Slytherin House. For the first time in aeons, I have no punishments to dispense. Do let us keep it that way. Off you go!"

"Nothing else, sir?" Pressed AB.

Snape's eyes narrowed. Joyous mood or not, he was not a man to be gainsaid - especially in public.

"Are you sure, sir?"

"Don't you get it AB?! There's nothing else. _Nothing_! Stop asking your stupid questions! Let's just go!" Erupted Alicia.

"As she said." Said Snape equably.

However, when Alicia went to move off, his fingers tucked into her collar and held her close to his side. As AB and the others finally left, he leant down.

"You are a bothersome child, Miss Mayhew, and you didn't sleep enough last night. I refuse to be in the company of over-tired children. Go back to bed; you may take your breakfast later."

"I don't need to sleep … sir." Said the truculent child.

"Oh, but you do - because your housemaster demands it."

He watched her walk up the dormitory stairs and headed to the main hall. Alicia leant against the wood panelling of the girls' corridor smiling to herself until she heard the common room door close. She liked the idea of a snooze. If it wasn't for the worry of missing out on all the Slytherin evening activities, she wouldn't mind getting a seven o'clock bedtime every night, _or_ compulsory daytime napping. Still, she was a gal on a mission. She'd played it just right at inspection; hadn't overdone things. Now she had to get out of the dungeons and seal the deal.

**oOo**

**Breakfast**

Pansy lost count of the number of times she was called 'hussy' over breakfast; Snape's archaic terminology was a constant source of amusement to his Snakes. Zabini was currently pondering aloud on the distinguishing characteristics of a hussy as opposed to Snape's other favourite insult, 'flibbertigibbet'.

"I have it!" He declared, "You giggle and tease when you're in flibbertigibbet mode. But when you're being a hussy, you sashay and strut! Now go and strut on over to Flitwick and we can all watch him squeak and squirm!"

"Stop it, Blaise." Warned Millicent, "You're making her laugh. Pansy? You need to sulk."

Pansy's face immediately assumed a glower. Snape had blindsided them all at inspection. Ordinarily, the short skirts would have been enough to see Daphne and Pansy despatched to a corner straight after breakfast to re-think their sartorial crime; Snape having precious little tolerance for their repeated attempts to ditch socks in favour of seamed stockings, ties for silk scarves and lace-ups for kitten heels. That's what they'd been aiming for; a pair of eyes, or better two, in the common room to keep track of house comings and goings. But today the unthinkable had happened and Snape had been lenient, almost verging on playful. Of course, he wouldn't put up with Pansy's notorious pouting for an extended period, so the second she was tipped off that Snape had taken leave of McGonagall, she reverted to sourpuss mode - not such a stretch for the girl. Harry helped focus her mind. He privately thought Pansy and Daphne had looked rather fine in those short skirts; maybe they could talk Tracey into wearing one?

"The miniskirt was great, but you look nice in that one, too." Nodded Harry encouragingly as Snape made his way down the aisle.

"_No, I don't_! I look like a flipping nun. Snape won't be happy until he has us dressing like McGonagall, or ugly, old Sprout in all her raggy, baggy gardening clobber. I mean, who wants to look like her?!" She scowled.

The sibilant shift of black gown was upon them.

"What did I say about pouting at inspection, Miss Parkinson?"

"Can you blame me, sir? Just look at Fleur Delacour's skirt! It's indecent; I can see her ankles!"

Snape said nothing, only giving the slightest sigh as he clutched at Pansy's collar.

"With me, Miss Parkinson."

**oOo**

"Poor Pansy." Said Daphne, as they watched Snape lead her through the doorway.

"Slytherin expects." Reminded Malfoy.

"It didn't expect you to put your name on that parchment yesterday." Reminded Millicent.

"Stop going on about it, Millicent. I've explained already and now you're boring everyone." Said Malfoy.

"Oh sorry, you did too. You're our last line of defence."

Millicent Bulstrode apologising? To Malfoy? The boy looked rightly alarmed, but the conversation kept moving.

"Mind you, Snape's in a good mood for once." Said Millicent, "I don't think he's going to be hard on her."

Harry begged to differ, but kept that private. Memories of Snape under the _Cheering Charm_ were still apt to make him wince, and it made him more grateful for Pansy's sacrifice. Who'd have thought Pansy Parkinson would take one for the team - and, more specifically, for him?

Breakfast was over. The fourth rose, and Malfoy nodded at AB. Millicent went sidling up to Ron Weasley, and the rest headed off to the linen press HQ.

**oOo**

**Slytherin common room**

Pansy left Snape's study via the common room door, and bumped right into AB.

"Is he in there?" Asked AB.

"What do you think?" Snapped Pansy.

AB thought yes, and a second later the man himself appeared.

"The corner, Miss Parkinson." He reminded.

"As well?!" Asked hard-done-by Pansy.

"You were keen to share your petulance throughout breakfast; why not now? And you can use the time to ponder the perils of speaking about professors so disrespectfully. Fifteen minutes." He prodded Pansy on her way and turned to AB,

"Mister Armitage-Brown, what can I do for you?"

Malcolm Baddock sniggered as Pansy continued to the corner. She made a detour, checked AB and Snape were gone, and pinched Malcolm hard.

**oOo**

**Snape's study**

"It's Alicia, sir. I'm a bit concerned about her."

"She's fine. She was up to some mischief in the castle late last night and was simply tired this morning; I sent her back to bed."

"Don't you know what she was doing, sir?"

"She refused to explain, and I have better things to do than cosset ill-behaved children."

"She was checking the owlery … to see if her family had remembered. I told her not to."

"Remembered what?"

Her birthday, AB told him. Snape insisted it wasn't, then immediately flew to his filing cabinet. Damn! It would be _her_ birthday that he forgot. Looking at his clock, he saw the girl had had only forty minutes in the dorm. By the time she'd no doubt sulked at being sent back to bed, railed at not being wished happy birthday and eventually got into bed, there was a fair chance she was still awake.

"She didn't say a word to me." He told AB.

"She said nothing to anyone else. And the other first-year girls aren't speaking to her, so they haven't said anything. But then, you did remember Elsa's birthday; maybe she was testing to see if you remembered hers? Her family didn't by the way, sir. I would have told you, but I felt certain you wouldn't forget Alicia. Sorry, sir."

**oOo**

**Girls' dormitory corridor**

Snape recanted nothing. Alicia Mayhew _was_ a bothersome child. But children, he knew, were bothersome for a reason. Too little parental attention, or too much. Pressure to perform, or an absence of expectation. Too rigid, or too lax. Whatever the crime, the result always showed in a child's behaviour - and he had to deal with the little shits. He paused outside the first-year girls' dorm and reminded himself that his gripe was with the parents, not her. This was Slytherin House; the gripe was always with the bloody parents.

Even before he opened the door, something told Snape she wouldn't be in there. It would be too damn convenient - and Alicia Mayhew did not aspire to being convenient. But he went in anyway, cast his eye around and spotted something on her bedside cabinet. Face down and under a dubious-looking Zonko's package lay Alicia's little tweak to the plan that had occurred to her last night: a calendar with today's date circled in purple and green ink. What a truly pathetic sight, thought Snape; an anxiously awaited date that no one else had recalled. He groaned before overcoming the temptation to confiscate the Zonko's product. If he had his way, Bilton Bilmes and his cackling crone of a wife would be given a one-way trip to Azkaban, and their joke shop reduced to cinders. But perhaps someone had remembered the wretched child's birthday and given her the package as a gift? He couldn't take that from her.

Mid-musing, he heard the creak of the dorm door and Astoria and the others crept in.

"Where's Alicia, sir?"

Snape feigned puzzlement.

"I don't know. But as I gather none of you were talking to Miss Mayhew, I struggle to see why you care about her whereabouts now."

Astoria retained a skerrick of haughtiness, but the others shrank with shame. His eyes roamed to the dressing table and lighted on an unfortunate item.

"I've a good mind to take that hairbrush to each of you."

The threat caused an equal mixture of alarm and worry for Alicia. Some tears welled but he was disinclined to take pity.

"Explain." He ordered.

"She was in one of her trouble-causing moods when you were away; we all knew it, sir. We just thought it better not speak to her, or we'd all get in trouble." Answered Astoria.

Snape was supremely unimpressed.

"Let's not go there, shall we? Excusing one's own poor behaviour is far below the standard I expect from this house. You don't have to join in with Miss Mayhew's schemes, but you will not alienate her. Is that clear?"

He informed them that today was Alicia's birthday, which made Elsa snivel more. On her own birthday last year, Alicia had been more excited than she was. Snape took in the saddened faces.

"What you do with that information is, of course, entirely your business." He said as he swept from the room.

**oOo**

**Linen press HQ**

Pansy inadvertently got the whispering campaign up and going. Her fifteen minutes of corner ignominy up, she'd given Malcolm another half dozen pinches and made her way to the linen press. Ron asked about Snape and Alicia's movements.

"AB went in to see Snape; then Snape went up to the girls' dorms. Not sure what went on there, but Elsa came down sniffling about how bad she feels. Anyway, Alicia's not there."

"Does Snape think it's her birthday?"

"He must do. That's why Elsa's upset, whimpering about how excited Alicia had been about her birthday and how they'd all forgotten Alicia's."

"Alicia's gonna bloody love this." Said Malfoy.

"Is he looking for her?" Asked Ron.

"Not sure. He marched past me on his way to the boys' dorms."

"_Woah_! Stop right there, little hussy!" Called Zabini.

"What?!" Asked Pansy.

"Snape in our dorms? It's another bloody inspection!"

Panic spread through the small room like a flame through fallen pine needles; Crabbe's thirteen had got everyone rattled. Zabini sank down onto a shelf and silently bewailed both his own impending doom and that of the seven packets of cigarettes he'd had owled to him only two days ago.

"What's going on?" Asked Ron.

"An inspection." Said Pucey, "Wait, you don't have them in Gryffindor?!"

"No! What's he inspecting?"

"It's a little delicate, Weasley … the ladies, you understand." Muttered Pucey nodding to the girls and sounding like a man of no less than seventy summers.

"Sad mags - _and_ fags and booze." Answered Millicent. "Which have you got, Pucey?"

"I think I might have picked up one of Philip's magazines by mistake."

"_And_ taken it to bed with you, _and_ hidden it under your mattress?!" Scoffed Tracey.

"I had to keep it secure; I'd hate it to end up in the wrong hands, Trace."

"Is _that_ your excuse?!" Demanded Millicent.

Pucey gave a sad nod.

"You're dead!"

Pucey's dilemma set the others off.

"I can't remember what I've got!" Panicked Goyle

"Me neither!" Said Crabbe, "We'll have to go and check!"

Malfoy, who didn't share his housemates' peccadilloes, blocked the door.

"You can't. Sit back down! We have to try to get some floo powder; that's what we're all meeting for."

The floo powder! Harry had forgotten he'd plundered McGonagall's supply.

"No, we don't! I've got it; got it yesterday from McGonagall's study!"

"_Brilliant_!" Said Crabbe, "Shove off, Malfoy."

"That was an unauthorised action, Potter. _And_ you should have informed me or Weasley the second you got it."

"Get over yourself, Malfoy!" Spluttered Harry.

"Yeah! Get over yourself, Malfoy," Agreed Crabbe, "and get out of the way!"

"Well, where is it?" Demanded Draco of Harry.

"Safely stashed in my bedside cabinet!" Smirked Harry.

"You _idiot_, Potter! What's Snape going to say when he finds it? Students aren't allowed to use the floo."

"Yeah you idiot, Potter!" Chimed in all the others.

Ron was too busy laughing at the thought of Snape snooping around the dorms, so the 'Senior Advisor' assumed control. Harry was sent off to distract Snape whilst Malfoy retrieved the floo powder, Zabini's cigarettes and check Crabbe and Goyle's cabinets. Pucey was already racing for the sixth-year dorms.

**oOo**

**Slytherin boys' corridor**

"Sir?"

"Mister Potter …"

It was one of the wonders of the wizarding world how Snape managed to imbue two relatively mundane words with such a sense of irritation.

"Anxious for another game of _British Bulldog_, are we?"

What is it Malfoy always said about Gryffindors rushing in headfirst without thinking? Maybe The Prat had a point. Harry positioned himself squarely in front of Snape and the fifth-year dorm while Malfoy tiptoed into the fourth - and couldn't think of a single thing to say. Do you wear a vest when it's cold? _No_! Don't ask that; he'll think you're mental. I really like your socks. Where did you buy them? Nope. When did you start shaving? I haven't yet - should I be worried? Ditto.

"I'm waiting, Potter. But as you know, I'm a man of infinite patience, so _do_ take your time."

Sarcastic twat.

"What are we having for afternoon tea?"

_Sodding buggery hell_! Is that the best you can do?! Harry felt like punching himself in the head. The Git was momentarily taken aback by the ludicrous question, but soon recovered. To Harry's horror, he leant his head to the side and proffered a smile of positively gruesome sweetness.

"Good question, young man! I find myself torn between making a Victoria sponge, or whipping up a batch of scones. Tell me, what would _you_ like?"

It was so toe-curlingly awful, but Malfoy still hadn't emerged from the dorm. All Harry could do was pretend to deliberate on the sarky response.

"I … um …. I love a sponge cake with raspberry jam … not too keen on strawberry … but erm … apricot jam is always a nice surprise. A nice surprise because you umm ... you think it's gonna be boring old strawberry, but ta da! It's apricot! Mrs Figg put lemon curd in a sponge cake once …"

Still no Malfoy.

"I wasn't too keen if I'm really honest, sir. Do you like lemon curd? Erm … But you know what, sir? The worst cake Mrs Figg ever made … guess what she put in it … go on, sir, guess! I bet you can't!"

Still no Malfoy, and still more verbal diarrhoea from Harry. He looked at Snape looking at him. The man clearly thought he'd gone gaga.

"She put tomato pickle in a cake once! Ha! It was a mistake; she thought it was cherry jam. Oh yuck, pickle in a cake … but I like tomato pickle … but not in a cake, eh! You know, sir, I bet I can tell your favourite jam if I think about it long enough …"

_Fucking hurry up, Malfoy_! Snape had dropped the hideous smile in favour of his habitual hatchet-faced grimness. It was certainly a relief, but Harry knew more was in the offing; Snape's thumb and index finger were reaching straight for his ear. They latched on and gave a sadistic twist.

"Get out of my sight, you cretinous boy."

Still no Malfoy. Where the hell was he?

"Will do, sir. Just one more thing - fruit scones or plain?"

"Accio ruler!"

Malfoy! _Finally_! About bloody time! Harry wriggled out of the pincer hold, ducked a backhander and delivered his vote for the Victoria sponge as he raced to the stairs.

**oOo**

"You took your time." Scowled Harry.

"Took me ages to find Zabini's cigarettes."

"Did you get the floo powder?"

Malfoy nodded. Harry forced himself to do the decent thing and thank him.

"Don't thank me, Potter. I hid Zabini's fags under your pillow!"

**oOo**

Snape leant in the doorway to watch the usual suspects peer nervously into the dormitory corridor, see him beaming back at them, gulp, whimper, and then duck back down onto the stairs. What sordid paraphernalia did they have in their cupboards now? Great fun at no cost to himself - he could have stayed there all morning. He did, however, manage to drag himself away to the seventh-year boys' dorm, where he returned the ruler and informed AB he'd be away for an hour or two after lunch, then tasked him with telling the rest of the Slytherins it was Mayhew's birthday - house supper in the common room, attendance compulsory. Then he set off to locate the birthday girl; he knew exactly where she'd be.

**oOo**

Alicia Mayhew sat on the sunny outside steps of the owlery, leaning up against a rail post. Such delicious indulgence to abscond and know someone would come looking. It would _never_ happen at home - she wouldn't dare. Her indulgence grew further to 'what ifs' that never had a hope of arising. What if her family surprised her on her real birthday and an exquisitely wrapped gift arrived by owl at the breakfast table? What then? What if they came to the school, demanding to take their daughter out for a birthday tea? Good to have a worry that wasn't a worry. Or was it? It meant they held her in very little regard. Well, she scolded herself, you knew that already you great clot!

At heart Alicia Mayhew was a sensible, no nonsense girl - a trait that led so often to fallings out with the other first-years. She pulled herself out of the rabbit-hole of self-pity - nice place to pay a short visit, but you wouldn't want to spend too much time there - and focused on pulling the wool over Snape's eyes. Then she heard it. It could be an awful sound - heralding fury, but right now the rapid pinging of leather soles on stone was beautiful. She left her chest rub in her pocket. This wasn't a time to seem mournful and pathetic; this was a time for righteous indignation. The next thing she heard was him breathing deeply through his nose, but Snape said nothing as he sat down next to her. He took in the view of castle, moors and mountains beyond, and after a minute of silence, his knee nudged her leg. At the knee-nudge, she angrily jerked her way up to stand by the handrail only to be pulled back to sitting beside him. Let the play acting commence; she was ready for it.

"They haven't seen me since Christmas. I just thought they might have remembered and sent something."

"I know the feeling, Miss Mayhew - and it isn't a nice one."

Snape seldom revealed details of his personal life; this was too good an opportunity to pass up.

"Did you ever get anything for your birthday, sir?"

"I once got money from my father. When I was thirteen, I think. Though knowing him, he was probably hoping I'd use it to leave home."

Alicia smiled, and probed for more.

'Was that it?"

"No, Miss Mayhew. At times I was quite spoilt. For my sixteenth birthday, the old next door neighbour, Miss Egerton, gave me a potted cactus. Covered with hair from her cat, as I recall."

Alicia groaned sympathetically at the uninspired gift.

"Quite." Agreed Snape, "I'm still unsure which made her cry the most - the pot being flung at her head, or the spikes sticking into her."

"_Sir_! You didn't?!" Gasped Alicia.

"No, I didn't. But I felt like it. I forgot to check, Miss Mayhew. People forget others when they're busy - and it's wrong. All I can do is say sorry. Do you accept that?"

She'd planned to wring out every last drop of pathos from the forgotten birthday that never was, but after only giving the opening lines of her performance, she decided the self-pity lark was a pile of shit. Keep at it for too long and you'd end up believing it - that could only make you miserable. What moron goes looking for that? Still, she had 'Potter's Plan' to work towards, and some finagling of her own.

"Will I get a present?"

"Maybe."

"Are you sorry you whacked me last night?"

"Last night when you broke curfew and went out of bounds? No. Do it again and I'll whack you twice as hard and twice as long."

"Hmm," Said Alicia, "'Cos if you were, then I was thinking the next time I do something whack-worthy you could let me off?"

"If you were thinking that, then you weren't thinking at all."

Fail. She moved on to pressing Potter's cause.

"Will there be a party for me tonight?"

"That could be arranged."

"May I choose what games are played?"

"You may."

"Do I get to choose supper?"

"You do."

"Cake?"

"It's traditional."

"Apology accepted, sir." Said Alicia.

**oOo**

**Linen press HQ**

Alicia had installed herself on one of the top shelves of the linen press. It was obvious Malfoy didn't want her there, but he couldn't say anything; he'd agreed to her presence when she took the oath. To be frank, Alicia was supremely smug at how matters had turned out. The first-year twits had been giving her the cold shoulder, but she was certain Snape had told them off. Elsa would feel horrid about it all, and she was sure to get a good present from them. Win. Last night's walloping had been nothing; she'd had much worse from Snape. Still, Weasley had felt sufficiently bad to press an interesting package from Zonko's into her hand at supper yesterday. Win. Whatever was in that Zonko's package, she was using it on Astoria. Triple win. Harry Potter had been miffed the other day at having missed out on playing Sardines. Alicia had talked Snape into playing it with all of them at her party. Mega fucking win. Alicia _loved_ Harry. She leant over the side of the shelf, and threw a Bertie Bott's bean to get his attention.

"Guess what we're playing tonight, Potter?!"

"Dunno, Lissy. Tell me."

"Sardines!"

"Brilliant, Lissy! You're a star!"

"What?!" Cried Malfoy, "You've ruined everything! You were told to stick to the plan, and the plan was we kept Snape in the common room. _You moron_!"

"You can't speak to me like that! It's my birthday!"

"No, it's not!"

"Well, it's the only one I've got now. Snape's not going to let me have two birthdays, is he?"

Ron stood and placed himself between the bickering pair.

"The wise man makes a plan of shifting sand that yields to the will of prevailing winds …"

"Don't start that claptrap again!" Malfoy snapped.

"She's changed it for the better." Said Ron more plainly.

"How?" Demanded Malfoy.

"I'll tell you. I heard Hermione explaining Sardines to Harry the other night. All you've got to do is this; play one round, and make sure Snape's the last one to find the Sardine. That makes him the next Sardine, doesn't it? Just take ages to find him. It'll give us heaps of time to get the note back."

"How do we make sure Snape's the last one to find the Sardine?"

"You're bloody Slytherins, aren't you? Start being sneaky!"

Malfoy tried to find an objection, but eventually had to concede that Alicia's tweaking of the plan had been a good one. He still reached up and gave her a whack.

"_Ow_! Don't Malfoy! I'm still sore from Snape." Fibbed Alicia.

"Good!" Said Malfoy.

Ron got up to leave. He'd be back later but he had to put in an appearance in the Gryffindor common room; Seamus and Dean were growing increasingly suspicious of his absences. The last thing anyone wanted was those two following him down to the linen press. Alicia thanked him - Weasley was winning her over fast.

Shortly after Ron left, Alicia was conked on her shelf, whistling softly through her blocked left nostril. The noise set Malfoy's teeth on edge, but Harry found it charming. He gazed up at her with the same look of pride a father has watching his daughter perform in her first Nativity play. Malfoy nudged him.

"Don't get soppy, Potter. She just took one for the team; Slytherin expects."

"You keep saying that, but she's done the most so far. Slytherin hasn't expected that much of us."

"Only a bloody Gryffindor would go looking for trouble." Sighed Malfoy.

"Look, the plan's the thing; you want it to work, don't you? We use each person best to work to the plan; we don't alter the plan so we can fit in a burst of heroics. She works best getting into trouble because she's a stroppy little madam and that's what she always does. Snape won't think what she did last night and today was odd at all. But despite what an awkward sod she is, Snape's got a soft spot for her. Once he thought it was her birthday, he was bound to go all out in giving her a party. As a matter of fact, we've all got a soft spot for her."

"You hide it well." Said Harry.

"This is Slytherin, not bloody Hufflepuff; she knows how I feel."

To Harry's utter amazement, Malfoy was being reasonable, rational and fair-minded … but then he kept on talking.

"We're all different and we each bring something to the plan. You happen to work best talking complete bollocks about jams and pickles."

Harry knew then that Malfoy must have been waiting in the dorm listening as he made a berk of himself with Snape. He was about to get on his high horse - until he realised he was enjoying this conversation with The Prat.

"That's your gift, Potter; it's what you do!"

"Snape must think I'm a right tit now!" Laughed Harry.

"If it makes you feel any better, he probably always did!"

"Thank you, Mister Malfoy." Said Harry.

"And I work best in the shadows, pulling everyone's strings."

"That's convenient for you. But I still feel sorry for her; you heard what Snape did to her."

"I heard her lying through her arse. No way would Snape have walloped her like she said."

"He bloody caned her after we went to Hogsmeade!"

"She got two, and they were for show; he barely touched her. I'll tell you what her game is; she's laying it on thick so we get her a better present than we got Elsa."

_Shit_! A birthday present! Harry owed her big time; where was he going to get a present?

"How much money have you got?" He asked.

"Oodles, of course. I'm a Malfoy."

**oOo**

Twenty minutes later, Malfoy was a galleon shy of 'oodles'. Harry had also passed the hat around the rest of the fourth and come up with a tidy sum for Alicia's present. He'd heard from AB that Snape was to be out of the castle that afternoon and had a fair idea what the man was going to do. He leapt down the front steps and raced along the gravel drive. Almost hidden by the gloom of the yew trees was Snape striding for the gates.

"Sir?"

Snape forwent both the arched brow and the look of withering contempt. He simply raced back to Harry, grabbed a fistful of jumper and yanked the boy up onto his toes.

"If you've come to dredge up another unexpected and traumatic encounter with a pickle, then I'll …"

Snape's eyes hovered on the overhanging yew. Harry squinted up at the long, supple branches, and got the point.

"I haven't! I thought you might be getting something for Alicia's birthday and I wondered if you could get something from us."

Snape looked aghast at being thought such a mollycoddling buffoon; is that how he was seen?! Perhaps he should he should turn back now with a long wand of yew and beat a proper regard into his Snakes? A temptation to be sure, but he had other business in Hogsmeade - and someone to meet along the way. He looked at the money Harry was proffering.

"That's far too much." He snapped, "Unless you are proposing to indulge every member of the house, you'll be more circumspect in your gift. We don't play favourites, Mister Potter."

"Okay. But can you get her something she can use at home?"

"Why?"

"I know what it's like not to be able to use stuff at home. It stinks."

"Any ideas?" Asked Snape.

Yes, Harry did - and Snape thought it a cracking idea. Harry knew that because for a split second the man stopped frowning. He soon recovered.

"Thank you for burdening me with your gift buying, Potter. Now get back to the castle and stop wasting any more of my time."

"I haven't finished, sir."

Snape couldn't forego the raised eyebrow at that.

"Remember you told me to make an act of reparation to someone I wronged?"

"Mmm?"

"Could I ask Hermione to Alicia's party, sir? I was rotten to her; completely ignored her when she tried to help."

Snape swept around to continue down the gravel path. "You may," he answered en route to the gates.

**oOo**

**32B Winklewort Street, Hogsmeade, Polly Pinkerton's flat**

"Could you get the cups, Severus?"

Polly had her back turned as she lifted the kettle from the fire, ready to pour it into the teapot. Snape shrugged at Minerva, conveying his utter bafflement at where said cups might be located. Minerva rolled her eyes; his pretence that this was his first time in Polly Pinkerton's flat was ridiculous. Didn't he know he and his exploits accounted for seventy per cent of staffroom scuttlebutt?

"It's customary for most people to keep teacups in a kitchen cupboard. Perhaps you could start your quest there?" She suggested.

Snape prickled at the tone, then headed down the passageway to the kitchen.

"So you know where the kitchen is then?" Minerva called after him.

**oOo**

Teacups miraculously located, Snape, Minerva and Polly quickly got onto the business of planning.

"Six o'clock at the gates, agreed?"

Polly and Minerva nodded.

"The other houses will be in the Great Hall; my Slytherins will all be in the common room. You can take Polly directly to my rooms."

"What about The Baron and Licorus?" Asked Minerva.

"They know everything. Licorus is thrilled at the opportunity to be so appalled; he'll go along with the plan."

"Do you have the mask?"

"Albus is arranging that. I'll pick it up later." Said Snape.

"Once I'm in your rooms what do I do next?" Asked Polly.

"AB will send through a note. He's working on Miss Bulstrode."

"She knows?" Asked Minerva.

"No." Said Snape, "She believes she's enacting revenge for Mr Malfoy's less than honourable prior plotting."

Snape then ran through his plans. The birthday supper and gifts would be finished at eight-thirty. Then it would be straight on with the games of Sardines.

"Where?" Asked Minerva.

"The Old Inquisitor's Chambers …"

Minerva gasped. She'd heard tell of them, but they'd been sealed up for centuries. Apparently not, Snape informed her. A loose panel in the folio cabinet at the western end of Slytherin corridor was the only thing between his Snakes and the gory horrors beyond. Amazing only he had discovered it, but there it was.

"Hardly birthday entertainment." Judged Minerva.

"Rubbish! Children adore being scared witless in a group." Countered Snape.

"And they're all playing?" Asked Polly.

"Every last one of them!" Smirked Snape.

"Then how is Potter going to …"

"I'm not making it easy for them, Minerva. They set themselves this task, and they'll need to strive to complete it."

"And if poor Potter has no opportunity?" Asked Minerva.

"Then 'poor Potter' will be sleeping on his stomach - along with the rest of them."

"But you want them to work together! That's why you let him get away with it. You _can't_ do that!"

"I can and I will. Potter stole from my private possessions, and the others are helping him conceal it."

"They're helping a friend; they're being honourable." Argued Minerva.

"And where is the honour if they risk nothing for their actions? To let them off scot-free would be to reduce what they've been working towards to the status of a prank."

Annoyingly for Minerva, Snape was right.

**oOo**

**Hogsmeade high street**

Minerva smiled as Snape stood dithering outside the shop window of _Snithington's Compleat Apparel for Little Witches_. She smiled even more as she recalled their leave-taking of Miss Pinkerton. Snape had stuck out his hand, but Polly had simply looked at the proffered hand and batted it away,

"Stop being daft, Severus! I don't think we're fooling Mrs McGonagall, are we ma'am?"

At the shake of Minerva's head, she'd then grasped his cloak, yanked him down to her and planted a huge smacker on his lips. A game gal, thought Minerva. Dependable, down-to-earth and quite clearly possessed of the physical stamina to keep pace with her young colleague's demands. Minerva jabbed at his shoulder as he stooped to peer at a pleated skirt.

"Pleats on that child? Not the most flattering style for a short, tubby thing."

"You're right." Murmured Snape, turning his gaze elsewhere.

"I am." Declared Minerva, "And I'm right about this, too: you should give up all your gallivanting with half the town's females and settle down with Miss Pinkerton. You're not that young anymore."

"I beg your pardon?!"

"You heard; give the others up and settle on her."

"Interference noted, Minerva … and discarded. I'm not a quitter."

She feigned disappointment, but inwardly basked in the knowledge she'd planted a seed. Next, she left him to do a little present shopping of her own.


	15. The dark Reflection

**A/N** 1: Thanks to all the guests! I hope you're having a wonderful holiday, Hamlet! Italian reader: si, Alicia ha molti problemi a casa. Ti rendi conto che sua zia lo e Dolores Umbridge? La sua famiglia e terribile!

**A/N 2: **This is the last chapter of _The Dark Reflection - Part 1_. I'll start posting Part 2 of the story in a few weeks. Really, it's one big story, hence the lack of resolution at the end of this chapter (it'll come!) - I just find it easier to focus on more manageable chunks.

**A/N 3: **I'm assuming everyone is familiar with _The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe_, btw.

**Chapter 15: The Dark Reflection**

**Mid-way between Hogsmeade and Hogwarts**

Would Armitage-Brown be able to pull it off? Snape trusted his head prefect implicitly but he was, after all, just a boy. In his favour, Armitage-Brown had successfully manipulated Bulstrode. The occasional antipathy she held for Malfoy had been exploited when Armitage-Brown found the parchment containing all the names of the fourth - minus Malfoy's. The nitwits had hatched a hare-brained scheme to bombard his study with all manner of requests, apologies and confessions. Snape was certain it was a ruse to locate Potter's cloak, and just as certain that after the first few incursions, he'd have ended up thrashing any fourth-year on sight. Clever Mister Malfoy must also have been of that opinion; he'd omitted to add his own name to the plan. Only, as matters turned out, it hadn't been so clever.

Mercifully, they'd moved onto a slightly less cretinous plan, though Snape rued the fact they hadn't done so before he'd doled out that slippering to Crabbe. Still, such were the pitfalls to conspiring against a housemaster. Armitage-Brown had handed Bulstrode the parchment, simmered her in indignation and sprinkled her with outrage; she was determined to pay back Malfoy. So far, so good. But what would be the outcome? Snape wished he were certain. If it went the wrong way, he and Minerva would be rumbled. Catastrophe. And what of the purloined note? Gratifyingly, Potter hadn't resisted sticking his beak into Snape's affairs, and had snatched the note. But the meaning of it would have to broached with the boy at some point.

He ran through the timeline once more in his head. By ten o'clock at the latest he'd know which way the wind was blowing and, as there was not a thing he could do until then, he moved to other thoughts. Alicia Mayhew. All the child wants is a few games of Sardines, and I pick a disused torture chamber as the spot? Am I really this fucking miserable? Snape's only response to his internal questioning was: _Yes, yes I am._ In mitigation, the Snakes were all used to his grim demeanour; most had 'something of the night' about them too, and life _was_ inexorably moving towards a dark place. His Snakes would need to accustom themselves to horror. So no, no last minute changes to the location of Mayhew's birthday knees-up. And neither would he be downgrading his security measures despite his delight at the Snakes helping Potter replace the stolen note. His delight, after all, was in the students working together - not necessarily in them succeeding. Snape really was that fucking miserable.

They'd met up at the path to the rear of _The Hog's Head_. Neither had spoken, yet they'd somehow reached a tacit accord to pause their journey amongst a stand of silver birches. Snape had found a suitable bough to rest his arms upon as he compartmentalized the thoughts rioting around his head. When he'd done as much as he was able, he contemplated the castle ahead.

"The founders didn't build this." He said.

"Didn't they? I suppose I've never thought about the castle's origins before."

"Rowena Ravenclaw and Salazar Slytherin tracked down the most heinous of the witch-finders and had him found guilty of sorcery. How fitting."

"What then?"

"The townsfolk turned on him. They jeered as he was tortured to death by his own inquisitors. The Whomping Willow stands on the spot he was drowned."

That grisly revelation caused Minerva's lips to turn down.

"Ducking stool." Murmured Snape, "The willow's roots drained the pond. All those lives lost gave the tree its magic. It turned on the townsfolk, attacking any who came near it. By the time the founders were ready to open the school, the muggles had long abandoned Hogsmeade."

"How do you know all this?"

"I was a lonely child. Lonely children find things out, and keep close counsel."

She felt the too-familiar dull ache of guilt; Severus had perhaps been the loneliest child she'd known. Her hand was about to reach for his arm when he turned and spoke.

"You know we change everything with tonight?"

She knew it; she'd thought of nothing else since she'd pledged allegiance to him the night prior. That night would see them set a trap, and sow the seeds for ending a life. Who knew what else lay in store for them and their students? They'd agreed their plan and yet, standing there with the castle and its occupants ahead of them made the importance of their actions increase ten-fold. She gave no answer to Snape's question, and the pair stood saddened by the momentousness of it all.

Tears welled in her eyes. Snape saw them and didn't rush to comfort. The grief was fitting; he could have wept himself at the certain loss that lay ahead.

"How far do you think it is from the castle to _The Hog's Head_?" He asked.

"Mile and a quarter, maybe a little more?" She hazarded.

"Fifteen minutes walk, maybe less for excited teenagers … nothing … I walked further to the local park as a young child."

Minerva looked bemused at the conversation's turn.

"Some of my older students came here without permission." Snape explained, "I caned them for it. Imagine that. A brisk walk of fifteen or so minutes and I caned them in front of the entire house. And I'd do it again in a heartbeat because they put themselves and others in such danger. That's why we're doing this, Minerva. Let's shed our tears now and have done with them. If we allow tyranny to prevail, it will run for generations."

She reached inside her cloak, and Snape assumed she was pulling out a handkerchief, but no.

"Quick gasper before we start?" She asked, handing a cigarette to Snape.

"Where …?"

"Bought them. I am of age, you know!"

Amazing woman, thought Snape. Her determination didn't erase the years showing in her face; it set the lines hard and made her seem as fierce as Boudicca. Snape could fight with her at his side.

"When this is over and the fighting is all done, what do you look forward to seeing?" Minerva asked.

"Myself! I look forward to seeing myself in one piece." Said Snape, "And … "

He mulled over her question; Polly Pinkerton came to mind.

"And some poor children at Hogwarts, for once. And Millicent Bulstrode as headmistress; she'd make a fine one."

Minerva conceded the point, and added that Hermione Granger would, too.

"No." Said Snape, "Potions and medicine beckon for that young witch. Her and Malfoy working in concert to find magic cures for muggle diseases; they'd both have the cunning to pass it off as a muggle discovery."

"Draco Malfoy helping muggles?!"

"He's a work in progress, old woman; don't forget" Growled Snape. "Anyway, what about you? What do you want to see?"

"Potter alive and happy."

He expected that.

"Hermione Granger acting foolishly and frivolously."

He didn't expect that.

"I want to stop being suspicious of children …"

He knew she was talking of his Snakes.

"I'm trying, Severus; I really am."

He nodded.

"And I want to see you free of the burden Albus placed upon you. I'm looking forward to working alongside a happy Severus Snape."

Snape hid a grimace. When this was all over, he'd be making his bid for freedom. Now, however, was not the time to tell Minerva. The pair evanesco'd their cigarette butts and made for Hogwarts.

**oOo**

**Slytherin common room, 6:30 pm**

"You made short work of that, Miss Mayhew." Said Snape, looking at her empty plate.

Alicia peered around and realised everyone else still had almost a full plate of lamb chops, chips and gravy, her chosen birthday dinner. Snape - ever the scourge of children - as well as demanding sufficient sleep for his students, was also fanatical about the eating of vegetables. The green-free meal had taken special pleading. Alicia had argued that as the lamb was a herbivore, the greens were in there somewhere, albeit in an un-ostentatious capacity. Against all odds, she'd succeeded in grinding him down with her twaddle.

Only partially managing to stifle a rumbling burp, it dawned on Alicia that this was the first time she'd eaten that day, the late breakfast never appearing and having slept clean through lunch and afternoon tea.

"Oops! Ate too fast. You know sir, I was so hungry I could have eaten a vegetable!"

Snape rolled his eyes at the cheeky response, but opted to forego the usual rap on the head with his wand. It was her birthday, after all. The second he found himself thinking that, he rolled his eyes again. Had he set a dangerous precedent allowing himself to be duped by her? Then again, at the beginning he hadn't entirely been certain that he was being duped. Mayhew's parents had so little regard for their youngest daughter, they'd sent her to Hogwarts with barely any of the official paperwork completed. It hadn't been inconceivable they'd filled in the wrong birth date and later amended it. The sad rigmarole with the owlery vigil, he realised, had only been brought forward a few months; the birthday no-show would still take place in June. And added to all that, she'd impressed him with her little performance. He'd been bracing for melodramatic wailing and gnashing of teeth, but she'd shown herself to be sensible with a smattering of self-centredness - and that was fine with him.

The gifts came next. Alicia kept a silent tally in her head, and the second the number exceeded what Elsa had received, she relaxed and allowed herself to enjoy the moment. Snape gave her his standard gift of green and white striped house pyjamas, but they came in a soft, furry kneazel-shaped case. It rolled onto its back and allowed Alicia to open its tummy for said pyjamas. If anyone else tried, it swiped them with its clawed paw. Alicia thanked Snape and silently vowed the first thing she was going to do was stuff Astoria's Transfiguration homework in there and watch her try to get it back. After all, Snape had more or less condoned it. The last present came from the fourth. Harry handed it to her, but even her adulation for the boy couldn't prevent the '_Yuck_!' as she unwrapped it. Candy floss pink skirt and sweater - were Potter and the rest having a laugh?

"Look closely and _think_, Miss Mayhew." Murmured Snape.

She did. Eventually, she saw it. A tiny card was attached to the cuff of the sweater, containing a wand diagram and two words - _Rosea Mutatio_! Alicia followed the diagram and on her fourth attempt the sweater turned black and the skirt midnight blue.

"The pink changes to whatever colour you want it to be. I thought that way you could wear them at home when your aunt visits …" Explained Harry.

"And be a nice, sweet-tempered 'pink' sort of girl." Said Zabini.

"Change them when you're here and be your usual ratbag self!" Added Crabbe.

Alicia was so touched her bottom lip began to wobble. Snape was onto it.

"None of that!"

Thank Merlin for Snape, thought Alicia; he'd pulled her back to her senses.

"Is this all I'm getting?!" She demanded, hands on hips. Just before Snape could reach over and box her ears, she continued, "I'm joking! Thanks _hugely_, I love them all!"

"As a matter of fact, it's not all. This isn't from me; it's from a secret admirer." Said Hermione.

Hermione handed her a little wrapped box. The wrapping quickly torn off, Alicia read the gold lettering: _Tremulous Trinkets - a must for the charges of all strict caregivers_. Upon lifting the lid, she saw a curiously shaped necklace. Then a note floated out, which Alicia caught and read.

You foolish child!

Don't you know he

can smell that chest

rub a hundred yards

away?! Next time you're

in trouble use this; one

twist of the pendant

for mournfulness, two

for contrition and three

for outright blubbing.

Remember! I gave the gift; it

cannot fool me!

Alicia knew two people at Hogwarts who would address a person like that - and it wasn't the tall man in black sitting in front of her. That only left Crankypants McGonagall.

"Who's it from? What does the note say? What _is_ it?" Asked Snape suspiciously.

Oh no, no, no. Alicia grabbed her wand and blasted the note with such a fierce _Incantatio Catapultum_! that she singed half her left eyebrow off.

"You foolish child!" Berated Snape.

She was beginning to see no difference between her formidable head of house, and that of Gryffindor; two peas in a pod, she mused. Her musings petered out with the arrival of the cake. As Birthday Girl, she wielded the knife, made a wish for Potter to fall desperately in love with her, and then proceeded to cut a huge slab for herself. Snape immediately made three smaller slices of the massive wedge. Alicia shrugged and got stuck into the diminished portion - and clean forgot everyone else. Snape had his wand poised ready to rap her noggin, but Pucey leapt to the rescue, offering to 'be mother'.

"She's a one-off." Said Hermione, nodding at Alicia busily snarfing her cake.

"She is, thank Merlin." Agreed Malfoy, "Blimey! Imagine living with two of her."

**oOo**

The fourth all sat apart from Snape, having commandeered the long peacock blue velvet sofa near the fish tank. Harry watched Hermione eyeing the icing on the cake and sent up a silent prayer that she didn't start lecturing people about plaque and back molars. She didn't, as it happened, which was good because they'd had a great time since she arrived. Hermione had done due diligence and complimented Pansy on her 'awesome' sacrifice in intentionally getting into trouble with Snape. Pansy had revelled in the moment, simultaneously brushing off the sacrifice _and_ ensuring everyone knew what a righteous walloping she'd taken.

Harry nudged Hermione.

"It was from Ron, wasn't it? That necklace for Alicia."

"I don't know. I found it on my bedside table before I came down. No name."

"Ron." Affirmed Harry; he knew his mate.

Hermione leant back to survey the room. Adrian Pucey was skipping around serving the cake and being both silly and charming. He spotted Alicia's empty plate,

"More grace, your Cake?!"

"Oh, go on then; never pays to offend the servants!" Replied Alicia, cocking an eyebrow at Snape and daring him to overrule.

Next Pucey served his fellow sixth formers. They weren't as charmed as the lower school.

"Oy Pucey, you clown!" Growled Derrick, "You cost me half a bottle of fire whisky."

"And _my_ vodka." Snarled Bole, "Dorm inspection my arse! Better make sure you watch yourself during this game of Sardines; wouldn't want you to slip and hurt yourself badly, would we?"

The menacing tone would have been apparent to a deaf man. Hermione was shocked. This was Slytherin as she'd expected it before. She watched Miles Bletchley lean in.

"You two had better make sure I don't find the empty bottles and turn them over to Snape." He hissed, "You're just the sort of morons who'd pour away the alcohol and forget the bottles … or maybe I have found them, eh?"

The little group and their watcher easily surmised from Bole and Derrick's faces that Bletchley had guessed correctly. She had no knowledge of Pucey's false alarm over a Snape dormitory inspection, but she didn't need it; she could see the rancour as clear as day. It stood in stark contrast to her previous visit for Elsa's birthday where she'd been charmed by the sense of fellowship. But talking of charm, its embodiment was heading straight to her, though his persona had swapped from obsequious but muddled butler to no-nonsense nanny.

"Come along, come along Miss Hermione! Dig into the cake; I won't have you being a party pooper!"

She complied - icing and all. Pucey leant over her to hand some to Tracey, who was perched on the back of the sofa, whispering as he did so.

"Breaking news from the prefects' briefing: Sardines will go until 10:00. AB says leave it until the end before you act, Potter; Snape will be watching everyone like a hawk at the start."

**oOo**

**Slytherin corridor, western end, near the old folio cabinet, 7:30 pm**

If Harry had hurt Hermione's feelings by not confiding he thought Snape was chucking him out of Slytherin, well then, he was sure he'd made it up to his mate by inviting her tonight. She was having an absolute hoot - getting along great guns with Millicent, and lapping up Malfoy's outrageous flirting. Harry watched her jump up and down on the spot, and knew she was about to let out a scream of excitement. This was brilliant! He'd never seen her cut loose like this!

"_Omigod_!" She screeched, "You'll be just like Lucy falling through the wardrobe!"

"Has Granger been sniffing the Wugwort Potion again?!" Asked Draco.

"You know!" Urged Hermione, "Lucy, Peter, Susan and Edmund!"

Blank faces from Malfoy, Crabbe, Zabini and Goyle.

"Forget it, Brainbox." Came Millicent's muffled voice from the folio cabinet, "Bloody Purebloods haven't got a clue. Never read any of the muggle classics … I'll slip it in as an extra for the bookclub."

"Oh great. Thanks Granger." Groaned all four Purebloods.

"_The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe_! You'll love it! _And_ there are six sequels!" Added Hermione with vague malice masked as enthusiasm.

"We're reading those, too!" Came the muffled voice again.

"Cease flapping your lips, Misses Bulstrode and Granger, and get on with it!" Snarled Snape.

You could forgive him his irritation. Millicent was at the head of a very long queue of not very patient students. In order to access the old torture chamber for the game of Sardines, the students had to go individually into the folio cabinet, stand in the gap between the rows of shelves, and fall backwards. Sensible and doughty Millicent Bulstrode was the obvious choice to go first, though Alicia was bobbing around him suggesting that maybe that honour should go to the Birthday Girl? Elsa Tobin had rediscovered her loyalty to Alicia and was seconding the motion - loudly. Snape sent a pleading glance to Sophie Blishwick, who came and dragged the first-years away.

"Get between the shelves and fall back _now_."

He gave the order as he held Hermione back at arm's length. But Hermione was more excited than either Elsa or Alicia. She pushed down Snape's arm, elbowed him out of the way, and lurched to the cupboard, banging on the door.

"Tell Aslan I'm coming!"

"Righto!" Called Millicent.

Hermione gave a giggle as she pulled back - and then she saw Snape's utterly befuddled face. Oh my God! She'd just elbowed the scariest professor in Hogwarts in the ribs. Assaulted him! He shook his befuddlement from his head; she shrank; the Snakes looked on in eager anticipation, and Malfoy snorted with delight.

Hermione stood gaping like one of the guppies from the common room fish tank whenever Archie Delingpole tapped on the glass. Snape took a step towards her, and she bowed her head. His long finger reached her chin and tilted her face to him.

"What is it you're trying to achieve here, Miss Granger? Get yourself stood in the corner, or gain a trip over the arm of my sofa? Do let me know, so we don't waste any more time."

Her face flushed to a shade Alicia's aunt would heartily approve of, and continued on its rosy trajectory as Snape took hold of her hand and gave it four slaps as accompaniment to his admonition,

"Behave yourself - or else."

Stifled sniggers sounded down the long queue.

"Naughty girl!" Tutted Pansy with a wicked grin.

But Hermione was spared more ignominy with a scream then a laugh from Millicent,

"No sign of Aslan, and it's no winter wonderland down here! It's … it's _way_ bleeding better than that! This is frigging _brilliant_!"

Snape despaired of Millicent Bulstrode's language; her mouth must have grown immune to the many soap spells he'd cast into it over the years. But he was pleased all the same, and allowed himself to feel inwardly smug; he knew how to please his Snakes alright.

Millicent had tumbled backwards onto a cushion of air suspended over a mass of outstretched skeleton hands. The movement of air gave the bony fingers the appearance of trying to grasp at the girl, but the undulating cushion gently moved her to the ground and soon she was joined by Philip Aitcheson. By the time Harry came through, a little exploring of the cavernous room had been done and he was greeted with the sight of Millicent, Tracey, Crabbe and Malcolm hanging from wall manacles and wailing.

"_Woah_!"

Harry stood and stared at the eerie green glow turning on and off intermittently and affording intriguing glimpses into passages and rooms beyond. He turned at a cry of laughter and saw Malfoy shoving Hermione into a wooden cage set on wheels. Hermione's face took on an emerald glow, but soon the light waned and shone elsewhere. He could hear Malfoy, though.

"Now you just hop in here; that's right, up you go. This is what we put you in first." The Prat was explaining, "Then we wheel you through the corridor and common room, and everyone casts stinging hexes at you until you arrive at the dreaded sofa arm and the Slipper of Doom …"

Harry listened to Hermione, her joyous panic and laughter intermingled. He was amazed she could laugh; had Malfoy told him that six months ago, he'd probably have believed him.

"What, Granger?" Teased Malfoy, "You didn't really think those taps on the hand were all you were getting, did you?!"

The green glow was back over the pair again, and Harry caught the look in Malfoy's eyes. It was only Hermione; no one else mattered. Oddly, Harry found he didn't mind. A few moments later, and his Gryffindor pal was being helped down from the cage.

"You know Draco, you call them taps, but they actually _really_ hurt; my hand's still tingling!" Said Hermione.

Any Slytherin within hearing distance immediately convulsed with laughter. Harry couldn't help it; he joined in, too.

Snape arrived last with Gregory Goyle and was relieved when the great lump's eyes shone with delight. He didn't imagine Goyle Senior used thumb screws and a ducking stool on his son, but he was aware the boy wasn't shielded from the dark deeds that did go on at home. Goyle raced off to try the wall manacles with Crabbe, and Snape felt relief that he'd banished the truly gut-wrenching implements. He also took a moment to admire the light show he'd put on. Enough light for him to see them, murky enough for it to be thrilling for the little toads. More laughter sounded behind him, and Miles Bletchley heaved Alicia up and onto the stretching rack,

"This is your real birthday treat; we're going to make you normal-sized!"

The four foot six short-arse threw up her arms ready to be secured,

"Do it! Do it!" She cried.

Snape took in all the gruesome hilarity, and wondered if he ought point out the true horror this place represented, then recalled that this was a birthday party, and even he was not such a doom-laden misery-guts.

**oOo**

Despite never having played before, Hermione proved to be brilliant at the game. By paying close attention to the layout of the old chamber and its corridors and secondary rooms, she could gauge the space behind a door without even opening it. Thus, she didn't bother with rooms that were too small to accommodate everyone. It made her fast, and she was the first to track down the Sardine in the opening two games. Malfoy started tailing her after the second game, and soon cottoned on to her technique. He won the third game and promptly put her two victories down to beginner's luck.

At the start of the fourth game, Harry went to check out the entrance. _Shit_! It was a sheer wall; how was he going to scale that? He'd been too excited to take much notice when he fell into the chamber. He stood and stared at the folio cupboard entrance fifteen feet above his head. Adrian Pucey moved out of the shadows to join him.

"There's no escape from Snape!"

"There isn't! Sodding hell! How am I going to get out?! If I can't get that note back, he'll bloody murder me."

"Fear not! I came prepared."

Adrian tugged on something. Harry peered but didn't see anything; then the green glow appeared above them and illuminated a near translucent rope. Slytherin prefects were bloody brilliant, thought Harry. He turned around ready to re-join the game when he was yanked sideways into an alcove.

"Are you off already?" Asked Millicent, she who had yanked.

"No." He answered, "After a few more games."

Harry thought that was it, but Millicent kept hold of his arm. Once more the green glow came around and Harry saw Latimer and AB walking either side of Malfoy.

**oOo**

It was with a certain giddiness that Malfoy approached Millicent Bulstrode. He knew what she was about to say. However, he was also in that luxurious position of knowing something she didn't know; that none of them knew, in fact. He let himself be huddled into the alcove by Latimer.

"All going to plan." Nodded Millicent approvingly, "But we're nearing crunch-time. Harry will need to go and replace you-know-what in a few games. He's prepared. He has his floo powder carefully wrapped in his pocket, don't you Potter?"

Harry obediently replied in the affirmative.

"The exam paper's waiting for him in AB's drawer with a temporary blank charm on it, just in case he gets stopped by a professor."

"Millicent?" Asked Malfoy, "Why are you telling me a plan that I devised?"

He was being disingenuous to say the least; Draco knew what her game was.

"Well." Said Millicent smugly, "Potter's not the only one going into action. Thing is, Malfoy, _you're_ going into action too! We didn't think it right not to utilise your skills as last line of defence."

A stampede of feet, and everyone shrank into the pitch dark alcove.

"Come on, sir!" Whispered Harriett Walsh.

"Where are we going?" Asked Snape.

"We found a door at the far end, and we're sure Jemima's inside!"

"Why didn't you go in?"

"We're too scared!" Giggled Harriett and Lara with delight.

Snape took hold of the girls' hands and sped them down to the other end of the chamber. Malfoy, AB, Latimer, Harry and Millicent resurfaced from the gloom. Malfoy immediately saw the unseemly sparkle in Millicent's eyes, but it was AB who spoke next.

"We want you to wait outside Snape's study. No one's likely to come down, but just make double sure. Can't have McGonagall or Dumbledore pitching up on Snape's doorstep just as Harry lets himself out; we'd be found out in a heartbeat."

"And here's the kicker, Malfoy!" Millicent was now brimming with unholy malevolence, as she bunged him a packet of Zabini's fags. "You're going to stand outside fagging. If a professor comes down, you shout out and leg it. They'll be too busy running after you to notice Potter slipping out of Snape's study. Course, you'll have to hope that Licorus doesn't tattle to Snape and it does mean you'll be in deep doo doo if you get caught, but thems the breaks, eh?!"

Oh Millicent, thought Malfoy; you've got to get out of bed earlier in the morning to catch me out. He thought some more; what response could he give to burst her bubble? A bit of preening nobility; yes, that would do nicely.

"You're right. We _do_ need a last line of defence and I _am_ putting my neck on the line here. But, well … the last line of defence needs to be someone thoroughly responsible, so I think I'd better do that job myself. Alright Potter, I'll go and wait outside Snape's rooms now and be ready to save your sorry arse."

Malfoy turned to leave the chamber, then looked back quickly.

"Anything else, Millicent?"

The disappointed girl shook her head.

"Run along then, or you'll give away the plan." Said Malfoy imperiously.

**oOo**

**Slytherin corridor, outside Snape's quarters, 8:50 pm**

Millicent never bloody changed, thought Malfoy. If she had her revenge any colder, it'd be frozen. But smart though she was, Malfoy was a step ahead. He knew Potter wasn't going to replace the exam paper; the Weasel had already done it - unless, of course, he'd bottled out. It had been Malfoy's big, last minute switcheroo, and a damn fine decision too. Who knew when Snape would be watching them? It wasn't a given that Potter would be able to sneak out, so why not have Weasley replace the note instead? Of course, it had the added bonus of terrifying the ginger-headed berk. Well … Weasley was _alright_ he supposed, but Draco had grown bored of his 'mysterious master of stratagems' patter, and was in the mood for a bit of payback - deserved or not.

Draco couldn't keep the smile off his face. Oh, how he'd enjoyed his late afternoon chat with Weasley …

**oOo**

**Earlier, kitchen corridors, linen press HQ, 4:45 pm**

The shock and horror emanating from Ron Weasley was so palpable, Malfoy felt like reaching out and squeezing its cheeks.

"_Me_?! Me replace the note?! Me?! Me floo into The Git's rooms?!"

"We can go with Plan A if you'd rather." Said Malfoy, careful to keep his voice sneer-free, "But if Snape's watching Potter and the rest of us, we're screwed and all this plotting's been for nothing."

"No." Squeaked Ron before coughing down his nerves. "No, you're right. I can handle this."

The blank parchment in AB's desk drawer really was a blank parchment. Malfoy had substituted it for the blanked exam paper earlier. He handed it to Ron along with a carefully wrapped packet of floo powder.

"Look Weasley, we've had our differences in the past …"

"You reckon?!"

The last thing Malfoy wanted was to get into some tit-for-tat argument with Weasley, he was too intent on frightening him.

"We've had our differences in the past," He repeated, "and I don't think I've ever given your house its due …"

Draco Malfoy being conciliatory was unnerving, but Ron was sort of curious what praise he was going to heap on Gryffindor.

"I know I always shrug when you lot bang on about honour and bravery, but I've got to hand it to you - your deeds live up to your words. Well done."

'Shrug'?! Malfoy did a lot more than bloody shrug. But, Merlin! The Prat sounded sincere. What had Ron agreed to? His alarm was escalating into terror.

"What do you mean?" He asked.

"No, don't do that; we Slytherins are no respecters of false modesty."

"No, I really don't know. Tell me; I need to know what you're talking about!"

"Come off it! You know alright, and it's bloody brave of you. Knowingly breaking into Snape's lair?! I thought I was going to have to spend all afternoon trying to palm that job off on Goyle. You've saved me a lot of time and a hefty bribe!"

"Yeah, but what's the big deal? It isn't a big deal, is it? I mean, Snape's not even going to be in there. He isn't, right? Right?"

"Let's hope not."

"But he can't be! He promised Alicia he'd play Sardines."

"He did … and the chances are he won't nip back to his office much at all. And even if he does, what are the chances of him doing it at the same time you floo in? Remote …_ish_."

There's an art to winding people up, and Malfoy had it down pat. The trick is not saying anything concrete, and then taking the sucker to that delicious point where doubts and fears begin to feed off each other - then abandoning them there. Malfoy slapped his forehead at his forgetfulness, recalled AB wished to see him, and bolted from the linen press.

**oOo**

**Gryffindor Tower, outside McGonagall's study, 8:20 pm**

Three things caused Ron's confidence - such as it was once Malfoy had finished - to take a hammering, and they all started with Neville Longbottom. Firstly, the lumbering cowardy-custard of Gryffindor had expertly crept up on him just as he was letting himself into McGonagall's study. Neville was great, but he was hardly a ninja. Since when did he catch people unawares? Especially when they were aiming to be furtive.

"She's not in there. I saw her leave, but you know that, don't you?"

Secondly, Neville had followed that up with,

"You're helping Harry!"

"_What_? And keep your voice down!"

Neville switched to a stage whisper, which was only marginally louder than his normal speaking voice.

"He's up to something; I saw him yesterday. I think he's doing something with the Slytherins, but I don't know what."

Ron was curious and alarmed. He started unconsciously patting the blank parchment in his back pocket and wondering how much Neville knew.

"Oh yeah? Harry say anything, did he?"

Ron's aim of sounding not-particularly-interested-but-making-polite-chitchat-anyway was as successful as Neville's 'whisper'.

"No … but I think it must be something to do with Snape … I think he wants to get into Snape's rooms."

Bloody hell! Had anyone else followed him here? Had their plotting been that bleeding obvious? Who else knew?

"_A ha ha ha ha_! Who'd wanna get into The Git's rooms, eh?!"

Neville sweetly overlooked the atrocious acting. He turned his cow eyes on Ron, and slowly explained himself.

"Well, oh look … you know me …I'm probably all muddled. I get muddled; Gran's always telling me I do. But … he … well I'm certain he took something from McGonagall's study, and I've been trying to think what it was. He was wearing jeans and that baggy grey jumper of his, so it had to be something he could put in his pockets. And it couldn't have been anything that he had to go looking for because he wasn't sure how much time he'd have on his own. I think he took some floo powder. Everyone knows it's kept on the fireplace; he wouldn't have had to search for that. And I think you're going to put back whatever it is you keep patting in your pocket."

_Triple_ bloody hell!

"Only that doesn't make any sense." Said Neville.

"Why not?"

"Why steal it beforehand? You have to floo from a fireplace, and the floo powder's always there, so why not just take it when you floo?"

That was the third blow Neville unwittingly landed. That simple, screamingly obvious thought hadn't occurred to any of them. He and all the Slytherin fourth had spent an age that afternoon dithering over how best to wrap the floo powder in case Harry got bumped during Sardines and it exploded out of his pocket. Malfoy had even insisted on keeping a spare stash in the event of Harry having an accident. If they could do something so daft, miss something _so_ obvious, then what about the rest of their plan? Was it such a crap plan that Snape was already in possession of every last detail? Was Ron going to floo into his sitting room only to be greeted by an eerily smiling Git holding his prized slipper? He'd heard all about that sodding slipper while cooped up in the linen press. The Snakes' and Harry's anecdotes had been frequently hilarious, but then they always were - _after_ the event. Bloody hell, Ron hyperventilated when all Snape wanted to do was hand his homework back; he didn't think his heart would survive an encounter of the corporal kind. The thought entered Ron's brain that this wasn't an irrational fear, it was a vision of what lay ahead of him and soon he was sucked into a vortex of self-doubt, so much so that he didn't notice Neville opening McGonagall's door and gently easing him inside.

He was moved smoothly from the door to the fireplace, but was too deep in his ponderings to notice. Either Neville Longbottom had been hiding his light under a bushel these past four years, or they were all prize idiots and Snape knew everything. Ron quickly became aware of his new surroundings, however, as Neville first tripped on the corner of McGonagall's Persian rug, then stumbled into her coffee table, upsetting a display of china Cairn terriers and knocking over a vase of primroses. Ron watched him hopping inelegantly around the room and apologising. No way. Scratch Neville being a genius; Snape _definitely_ knew of their plans. Time to call it off, thought Ron. The Git would still go mental, but it had to be better than if they broke into his private quarters, surely? Only he didn't have time to think more. Before he knew it, Neville had clapped Ron on the shoulder, and thrown something into the fire,

"Severus Snape's rooms!" Bellowed Neville.

**oOo**

Ron felt himself turn awkwardly mid-floo. The turns got faster and faster until he was spinning, his face veering dangerously close to the fire brick walls. What the frigging hell had Neville done?! This wasn't normal; floo travel _never_ took this long. Where was he going? Maybe Snape wasn't on the floo system; maybe he was being diverted elsewhere? He had no time to think of where that elsewhere might be, for with an almighty roar, he suddenly flipped arse over tit and landed with a mighty _whump!_ on a hearth rug.

Unscrewing his eyes, Ron chanced a glance around the room. Overly flamboyant black robes hanging from a peg, curious vials of jewel-coloured liquid standing in a wooden rack, an unread _Potions Weekly_ on a coffee table alongside a well-thumbed book. On the arm of the sofa near his head Ron saw a pile of freshly laundered cravats … Oh bloody, buggering hell … he hadn't been relocated into some dark, disturbing corner of Knockturn Alley; he really was in Snape's rooms. No sooner had grim reality struck than Ron's toes began to waggle. The waggle worked its way to his knees; they knocked together, then his bottom began bouncing on the spot. He grabbed fistfuls of hearth rug to try and keep himself anchored, but seconds later, his right foot shot into the air and kicked the mantle.

The kick caused two blue black orbs to float lazily up into the air. The dark inky contents with strands of brilliant blue sloshed inside and pulled the spheres out of shape. Ron was mesmerized. Surely the thin skin would pierce and shower him with liquid? He almost welcomed it; the wisps of cobalt blue twisted sinuously and hypnotically within the inky black. He pushed his face towards them awaiting the tear of skin, and then scuttled back immediately. What was he thinking?! It was a trap! A bloody Snape-like, rotten, dirty trap! He rolled off the hearth rug, determined to escape the orbs' descent but all they did was follow him. If those orbs hit, he'd be that colour for days, maybe weeks - who knew? Classes would start and Snape would know in an instant where Ron had been. He pulled his jumper over his head, yanked down his sleeve to cover his hand, and stuck his wand out.

"_Evanesco_!"

Nothing happened. He tried again and again. Still the orbs continued their lazy orbit. Head and hands, he thought. Let his body soak up the blue black dye and keep his head and hands clear; that way he might get away with it. Snape hadn't yet turned so mental that he strip-searched students upon entry to his classroom. Crawling on his belly, Ron turned his head to the side and rammed it under the sofa. Looking across, he saw the orbs hovering near the ground. They slowly transformed into long, thin ovals and began edging to him. His eyes grew wide with fright, but just before he could screw them shut and say a quick prayer, a luminous head of blond curls appeared - shortly followed by a beaming smile and a wink.

"Well, hello! Let's get rid of these pesky little buggers, shall we?! _Evanesco Artificium Severinus_!"

Ah! That was why his spell hadn't worked. But Ron no longer cared; he was too busy melting into love. Her nose was a bit wonky, and the blond mane was silvering at the temples. She had more freckles than even he, but Merlin! What a smile! They both pulled themselves up and stood on opposite sides of the sofa.

"You're not Harry Potter!" She said.

"I'm not?" Bumbled Ron. "_No_! No, I'm not. I'm … I'm …"

Oh, bloody hell! What was his name? He couldn't remember. And then she laughed. Not a light, tinkling laugh, a deep throaty chuckle - that came with a little snort at the end. It was the snort that did it. He was helpless; his heart captured entirely.

"Better give me that parchment and get out of here, Mister Not-Harry-Potter!"

Ron handed it over.

"It's blank!" She said.

"Spell … it'll wear in … erm, wear out? Wear under?"

He was rapidly losing the power of speech.

"Wear off!" He said finally, triumphant at finding the correct preposition.

"Clever! Now I won't get six of the best for sneaking a look at the exam paper!" She laughed, "And don't tell his nibs I helped you - I'll never hear the end of it if you do!"

Ron wasn't aware of walking to the door, but soon enough he found himself there. Pausing with his hand on the knob, he drank her in, blissfully uncaring that the wonky-nosed stunner knew all about the exam parchment.

"Thanks, thanks a million! And who _are_ you?"

"Well Mister Not-Harry-Potter, I'm Miss Not-Severus-Snape. Aren't you lucky?!"

**oOo**

Polly Pinkerton replaced the note, and turned at the opening of a door. Minerva McGonagall leaned out from the kitchen.

"How dare Severus set a spell against one of my students!"

"He thought it was going to be Harry Potter." Said Polly.

"He's one of mine, too." Muttered Minerva before lightening, "Just as well you were here; I had no idea of the counter-spell."

"Severus has no idea I know it!"

"Oh, good! He _will_ be disappointed!" Gloated Minerva.

She then brought in the tea tray, and Polly sat down, prepared to be interrogated by the older witch.

**oOo**

The interrogation was both mild and affectionate in tone; quite clearly Minerva McGonagall regarded the dour potions master as highly as Polly did. And the old witch was fair; in return for her probing, she recounted how she and Snape snaffled Albus' single malt when either, or both, were aggrieved; enjoyed midnight roamings on the ramparts whilst smoking up a storm, and had an on-going plan to introduce Dreamless Sleep potion into the castle's water supply every Friday afternoon - whilst they quaffed the whisky, naturally. She pulled out a hip flask and added a tot to their teacups.

"Fortification." Minerva explained, "I fear we're going to need it."

They sipped in silence until Minerva could postpone it no longer. She pulled out the item Albus had given her and dropped it onto the sofa between them.

"Hateful thing!"

It landed face down and Polly turned it over to reveal a Death Eater mask.

"It'll do the job." Said Polly dispassionately.

"What if the boy is used to seeing them? We never really know what goes on inside their homes. Take any measures to scare him witless Polly; the mask may not be enough and if he isn't terrified, none of this will work."

"I know."

She looked at Minerva and saw the horror still in her face.

"Things will work out." Said Polly, leaning over to pat the old witch's arm.

"I can't help wondering if that mask was the last thing Dougal saw …"

**oOo**

**Slytherin corridor, outside Snape's quarters, 8:52 pm**

Malfoy slouched in an alcove, still smiling at the memory of Weasley's face. And what if Ginger Nut had chickened out? So what? Potter, at some point, would just have to come clean about nicking the exam paper, that's all. Golden Boy had too much honour to spill about the plot to replace the note; odds were Malfoy and the rest wouldn't even get in trouble. And if they did, well, they'd all been there before and no doubt would again. You were deranged if you went looking for trouble with Snape, but he wasn't as scary as he'd led Weasley to believe.

That was all true … and yet … What is it they say about giving lonely people too much time for self-reflection? As a matter of fact, Draco wasn't aware of any trite maxim on the topic, yet he could feel himself drifting from superficial spite into contemplation of the past few days. Merlin, he'd enjoyed scheming with the Weasel, Potter and Granger, even with Weasley acting like a tit at times. Part of him hoped he had chickened out; it'd make Draco feel less rotten - because that's how he was beginning to feel. He'd been right about Weasley replacing the exam paper. It was the smart thing to do, so why had he decided to scare him about Snape? And why hadn't he told AB and the others about it? Why run the risk of stuffing things up when they'd all worked so hard? As if on cue, he caught sight of himself in the polished oak of Snape's door. It was dim and indistinct, but it was there - his dark reflection.

The solid door wore the knocks and cares of antiquity. What was reflected back to Malfoy looked misshapen and joyless, and so it was. What was he doing here? He was perversely and pointlessly alone; he could be back down in the chamber skidding around with Granger, Zabini, Potter and the rest, having a great time. Why absent himself from that? So what if Millicent was a bossy know-it-all? She was never like that without a reason. Sadness flooded his chest as he recalled how much time he'd devoted to getting others into trouble, even fellow Snakes. He'd always been curious why none of his victims - Millicent, being the honourable exception - tried for retribution. But now he knew. Scamming with mates to get out of trouble was a blast. Maybe it succeeded and maybe it didn't. Didn't matter; pitching in together was what counted. He'd spent his school career on the side lines - too scared to try lest he failed, or keeping his distance from people he'd caused to incur the wrath of Snape.

The heaviness in his chest was working its way up to his throat and eyes. Just no. No to the dark reflection. No to the slow descent into evil, and no to Ezra Vickery: the faceless, nameless horror of his childhood. He had to turn away from that. Alone in the dungeon, he could feel his vulnerability. Snape had been right; Draco had no stomach for evil. If Weasley managed to pull the note business off, he'd be the first there to shake his hand. He was going to change. He couldn't be dark any more than his father could; the pair of them just didn't have what it took. Summoning his courage, he turned from his reflection determined to return to Sardines, his fellow Snakes and life. That was when he saw her.

Ezra Vickery come in female form. The shock cleared his mind of all thought, and then the horror began to well within him, tightening his throat so he couldn't make a sound. Just a mask, it's just a mask, only some metal, he told himself. But that mask meant so much more. He'd seen them before. Memories of Malfoy Manor surfaced. Seven-year-old Draco peeping over the bannister at the masked fiends below, hardly daring to do so, yet doing so all the same. Those masked faces … Cruel and hard, unyielding. He shrank against the wall, and sank to the bottom of the alcove.

"My, my! As cowardly as your father? Surely not … Surely someone in the House of Malfoy must have a backbone?"

Malfoy squeezed his eyes shut.

"_Answer me_!"

A line of fire blazed across his right cheek. Another coming if he didn't speak, Malfoy knew.

"My father isn't weak!"

"Your father disgraces all Death Eaters. He's proved himself unworthy, and you know what that means …"

"Please! Please don't harm him!"

Those words came back to him, echoed in a mocking high-pitched voice.

"_Please_! _Please don't harm him_! Like father, like son … Shall I give you a taste of what we give him? Oh, why not?!"

She held the _Crucio_ for only a few seconds, and still Draco couldn't imagine surviving it. Then she came within a metre of him, the cold metal mask scanning his face.

"You didn't cry! Lucius sobs like an infant; we enjoy that _so_ much! Perhaps your resilience comes from mummy, hmm? I'll need to try this on her … a little experiment, if you will."

"_No_! Please no!"

"And if I don't? What price will you pay?"

What answer could he give?

"You join us, and we'll let your father live. Your allegiance for your father's life …"

It all happened so quickly after that.

"_Who's there_? _Show yourself_!"

McGonagall! A screech that could shatter glass, and Malfoy thought it beautiful. The Death Eater spun on her heel and raced away. There was only one exit; McGonagall would be cornered. Malfoy leapt to his feet, determined to help the old shrew. Almost to the corner, he lurched back as a magnificent _Incendio Duo_ briefly filled the corridor with flames.

"Malfoy!"

Malfoy turned as Harry jumped from the folio cabinet.

"What …" Began Harry.

"Harry! Go and get Severus."

Minerva had the foresight to kneel on the floor. Malfoy's knees buckled, and his head was in her lap. The tears that had stayed absent with the _Crucio_ now fell with a vengeance.

**The End of Part 1**

** (the story will continue in a few weeks)**


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

Hi there! As soon as I get back from dinner (assuming I'm not sloshed!), I'll start posting chapter one of the new story - which is simply a continuation of this story, but it does make me feel more productive to have three stories to my credit! Hope you join me!


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